• 


BOOKS     PUBLISHED 

IN  BLUE  AND  GOLD,  BY 

TICKNOR,    AND    FIELDS. 


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POEMS 


JOHN    G.    S  AXE, 


COMPLETE    IN     ONE     VOLUME. 


TWENTY-SEVENTH    EDITION. 


BOSTON: 
TICK  NOR    AND    FIELDS. 

1864. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1861,  by 
JOHN    G.    SAXE, 

in  the  Cl«rk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Di.-trict  of 
Massachusetts. 


University  Press,  Cambridge  : 
Stereotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co. 


CONTENTS. 


PROGRESS,  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 

FAOB 

Dedication 3 

Progress:  A  Satire 5 

The  Proud  Miss  MacBride 22 

The  Briefless  Barrister 35 

Rhyme  of  the  Rail 38 

The  Rape  of  the  Lock 41 

A  Rhymed  Epistle 54 

The  Dog  Days 68 

On  a  Recent  Classic  Controversy 60 

The  Ghost-Player 61 

On  an  El-Read  Lawyer 63 

A  Benedict's  Appeal  to  a  Bachelor 64 

Boys 68 

Woman's  Will 69 

The  Cold- Water  Man 70 

On  an  Ugly  Person  sitting  for  a  Daguerrotype  ...  73 

A  College  Reminiscence 74 

Family  Quarrels 77 

Sonnet  to  a  Clam 78 

A  Reasonable  Petition 79 

Guneopathy 8f 

A  Philosophical  Query fc2 


IV  CONTENTS. 

Comic  Miseries 88 

The  Old  Chnpel-Bell 86 

The  Lady  Ann 92 

Girlhood 96 

Bereavement 98 

My  Boyhood 99 

The  Times 101 

Carmen  Lastum 119 

The  Devil  of  Names 125 

Phaethon 130 

Pyramus  and  Thisbe 134 

Polyphemus  and  Ulysses 139 

Orpheus  and  Eurydice            143 

THE  MONEY-KING,  AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

Dedication 151 

Preface • 153 

The  Money-Kins 155 

I  'm  Growing  Old 17ft 

SpesestVates ,.. 172 

The  Way  of  the  World  ....'"." 173 

The  Head  and  the  Heart 175 

My  Castle  in  Spain 176 

A  Reflective  Retrospect 178 

1  Do, yon  think  he  is  Married?' 182 

Early  Rising 184 

Ideal  and  Real 186 

How  the  Money  goes 1S9 

Tale  of  a  Dog 191 

Little  Jerry,  the  Miller 195 

How  Cyrus  laid  the  Cable 198 

The  Jolly  Mariner 201 

Ye  Tailyor-Man 205 

Town  and  Country:  an  Eclogue 207 

My  Familiar 211 


CONTENTS.  V 

How  the  Lawyers  got  a  Patron  Saint 214 

The  King  and  the  Cottager 216 

Love  and  Lucre    .    •         223 

Death  and  Cupid 226 

The  Family  Alan  .-....'. 228 

Ne  Crede  Colon 230 

Clara  to  Cloe 232 

Cloe  to  Clara 235 

Wishing 238 

Richard  of  Gloster 240 

Ho-Ho  of  the  Golden  Belt 246 

Tom  Brown's  Day  in  Gotham    ........  252 

Post-Prandial  Verses 261 

Lines  on  my  Thirty-ninth  Birthday 264 

Sonnet  to 265 

The  Cockney 266 

Love's  Calendar 269 

Augusta 270 

Ye  Pedagogue 271 

The  Lawyer's  Valentine 274 

Anacreontic 276 

The  Choice  of  King  Midas 277 

Where  there 's  a  Will  there 's  a  Way 281 

Saint  Jonathan 283 

Song  of  Saratoga 286 

The  Portrait 288 

Epigrams 289 

The  Press 292 


NOTE 


PROGRESS, 


OTHER    POEMS. 


TO  HON.  GEOKGE  P.   MARSH, 

UNITED    STATES   MINISTER   RESIDENT   AT   CONSTANTINOPLE. 

DEAR  Sra,:  — 

I  dedicate  this  little  Volume  to  you,  not  in  your  capacity  as  the 
honored  Representative  of  your  country  at  a  Foreign  Court,  nor 
yet  in  your  higher  character,  as  one  of  the  foremost  scholars  of 
the  age ;  but  rather,  as  is  more  befitting,  in  token  of  my  esteem 
for  your  private  virtues,  and  in  grateful  acknowledgment  of  your 
personal  friendship.  I  hesitate  less  to  avail  myself  of  your  kind 
permission  to  use  your  name  in  this  place,  since  it  was  greatly 
owing  to  your  flattering  judgment  of  my  first  elaborate  essay  at 
verse  writing,  that  other  pieces  were  subsequently  undertaken, 
and  that  these  are  now  here  collected.  In  christening  the  book, 
I  have  chosen,  for  several  reasons,  to  conform  to  the  customary 
nomenclature  which  allows  every  kind  of  literature  to  be  '  Po- 
etry,' that  is  not  written  in  the  fashion  of  prose ;  yet  I  have  no 
quarrel  with  that  nicer  rule  of  modern  criticism  which  assigns 
to  all  metrical  compositions  of  a  mainly  facetious  or  satirical  char- 
acter, a  place  rather  on  the  border  than  fairly  within  the  domain 
of  legitimate  poesy.  If  I  have  excluded  several  trifles  which  some 
of  my  friends  would  like  to  have  seen  with  the  rest,  it  was  be- 
cause I  could  not  afford  to  make  the  volume  larger  at  any  risk  of 
making  it  worse.  Should  the  verses  which  I  have  ventured  to 
retain,  receive,  in  their  present  form,  the  favor  which  has  been 
accorded  to  most  of  the  poems  separately,  I  am  very  sure  no  on* 
will  be  more  gratified  than  yourself, — except  it  be 

Your  sincere  friend,  and  humble  servant, 

JOHN  GODFREY  SAXE. 

BURLINGTON,  VERMONT,  184rf. 


PROGRESS: 


A    SATIRE. 


IN  this,  our  happy  and  *  progressive  '  age, 
When  all  alike  ambitious  cares  engage ; 
When  beardless  boys  to  sudden  sages  grow, 
And  '  Miss '  her  nurse  abandons  for  a  beau ; 
When  for  their  dogmas  Non-Resistants  tight, 
When  dunces  lecture,  and  when  dandies  write 
When,  martial  honors  to  the  children  thrown, 
Each  five-foot  minor  is  a  '  Major  '  grown ; 
When  matrons,  seized  with  oratoric  pangs, 
Give  happy  birth  to  masculine  harangues, 
And  spinsters,  trembling  for  the  nation's  fate, 
Neglect  their  stockings  to  preserve  the  State  ; 
When  critic-wits  their  brazen  lustre  shed 
On  golden  authors  whom  they  never  read, 
With  parrot  praise  of  '  Roman  grandeur '  speak, 
And  in  bad  English  eulogize  the  Greek  ;  — 
When  facts  like  these  no  reprehension  bring, 
May  not,  uncensured,  an  Attorney  sing  ? 
In  sooth  he  may ;  and  though  '  unborn  '  to  climb 
Parnassus'  heights,  and  '  build  the  lofty  rhyme,' 


Though  FLACCUS  fret,  and  warningly  advise 
That '  middling  verses  gods  and  men  despise/ 
Yet  will  he  sing,  to  Yankee  license  true, 
In  spite  of  Horace  and  '  Minerva '  too  ! 

My  theme  is  PROGRESS,  —  never-tiring  theme 
Of  prosing  dulness,  and  poetic  dream  ; 
Beloved  of  Optimists,  who  still  protest 
Whatever  happens  happens  for  the  best ; 
Who  prate  of '  evil '  as  a  thing  unknown, 
A  fancied  color,  or  a  seeming  tone, 
A  vague  chimera  cherished  by  the  dull, 
The  empty  product  of  an  emptier  skull. 
Expert  logicians  they !  —  to  show  at  will, 
By  ill  philosophy,  that  naught  is  ill ! 
Should  some  sly  rogue,  the  city's  constant  curse, 
Deplete  your  pocket  and  relieve  your  purse, 
Or  if,  approaching  with  ill-omened  tread, 
Some  bolder  burglar  break, your  house  and  head, 
Hold,  friend,  thy  rage !  nay,  let  the  rascal  flee  ; 
No  evil  has  been  done  the  world,  or  thee : 
Here  comes  Philosophy  will  make  it  plain 
Thy  seeming  loss  is  universal  gain ! 
*  Thy  heap  of  gold  was  clearly  grown  too  great,  — 
'T  were  best  the  poor  should  share  thy  large  estate 
While  misers  gather,  that  the  knaves  should  steal, 
Is  most  conducive  to  the  general  weal ; 
Thus  thieves  the  wrongs  of  avarice  efface, 
And  stand  the  friends  and  stewards  of  the  race ; 
Thus  every  moral  ill  but  serves,  in  fact, 
Some  other  equal  ill  to  counteract.' 


A    SATIRE.  7 

Sublime  Philosophy !  —  benignant  light ! 
Which  sees  in  every  pair  of  wrongs,  a  right ; 
Which  finds  no  evil  or  in  sin  or  pain, 
And  proves  that  decalogues  are  writ  in  vain  ! 

Hail,  mighty  PROGRESS  !  —loftiest  we  find 
Thy  stalking  strides  in  science  of  the  mind. 
What  boots  it  now  that  LOCKE  was  learned  and  wise  ? 
What  boots  it  now  that  men  have  ears  and  eyes  ? 

*  Pure  Reason '  in  their  stead  now  hears  and  sees, 
And  walks  apart  in  stately  scorn  of  these ; 
Laughs  at « experience,'  spurns  '  induction '  hence, 
Scouting  « the  senses,'  and  transcending  sense. 
No  more  shall  flippant  ignorance  inquire, 

*  If  German  breasts  may  feel  poetic  fire,' 
Nor  German  dulness  write  ten  folios  full, 

To  show,  for  once,  that  Dutchmen  are  not  dull.1 

For  here  Philosophy,  acute,  refined, 

Sings  all  the  marvels  of  the  human  mind 

In  strains  so  passing  k  dainty  sweet '  to  hear, 

That  e'en  the  nursery  turns  a  ravished  ear  1 

Here  Wit  and  Fancy  in  scholastic  bowers 

Twine  beauteous  wreaths  of  metaphysic  flowers; 

Here 'Speculation  pours  her  dazzling  light, 

Here  grand  Invention  wings  a  daring  flight, 

And  soars  ambitious  to  the  lofty  moon, 

Whence,  haply,  freighted  with  some  precious  boon, 

Some  old  '  Philosophy '  in  fog  incased, 

Or  new  *  Religion '  for  the  changing  taste, 

She  straight  descends  to  Learning's  blest  abodes, 

Just  simultaneous  with  the  Paris  modes  1 


8  PROGRESS  t 

Here  PLATO'S  dogmas  eloquently  speak, 
Not  as  of  yore,  in  grand  and  graceful  Greek, 
But,  (quite  beyond  the  dreaming  sage's  hope 
Of  future  glory  in  his  fancy's  scope.) 
Translated  down,  as  by  some  wizard  touch, 
Find  '  immortality  *  in  good  high  Dutch ! 

Happy  the  youth,  in  this  our  golden  age, 
Condemned  no  more  to  con  the  prosy  page 
Of  LOCKE  and  BACON,  antiquated  fools, 
Now  justly  banished  from  our  moral  schools. 
By  easier  modes  philosophy  is  taught, 
Than  through  the  medium  of  laborious  thought. 
Imagination  kindly  serves  instead, 
And  saves  the  pupil  many  an  aching  head. 
Room  for  the  sages !  —  hither  comes  a  throng 
Of  blooming  Platos  trippingly  along. 
In  dress  how  fitted  to  beguile  the  fair ! 
What  intellectual,  stately  heads  —  of  hair ! 
Hark  to  the  Oracle !  —  to  Wisdom's  tone 
Breathed  in  a  fragrant  zephyr  of  Cologne. 
That  boy  in  gloves,  the  leader  of  the  van, 
Talks  of  the  '  outer '  and  the  '  inner  man/ 
And  knits  his  girlish  brow  in  stout  resolve 
Some  mountain-sized  '  idea '  to  '  evolve.' 
Delusive  toil!  —  thus  in  their  infant  days, 
When  children  mimic  manly  deeds  in  plays, 
Long  will  they  sit,  and  eager  '  bob  for  whale ' 
Within  the  ocean  of  a  water-pail  1 
The  next,  whose  looks  unluckily  reveal 
The  ears  portentous  that  his  locks  conceal, 


A    SATIRE.  9 

Prates  of  the  'orbs'  with  such  a  knowing  frown, 
You  deem  he  puffs  some  lithographic  town 
In  Western  wilds,  where  yet  unbroken  ranks 
Of  thrifty  beavers  build  unchartered  'banks,' 
And  prowling  panthers  occupy  the  lots 
Adorned  with  churches  on  the  paper  plots ! 
But  ah  !  what  suff 'ring  harp  is  this  we  hear  ? 
What  jarring  sounds  invade  the  wounded  ear  ? 
Who  o'er  the  lyre  a  hand  spasmodic  flings, 
And  grinds  harsh  discord  from  the  tortured  strings  V 
The  Sacred  Muses,  at  the  sound  dismayed, 
Retreat  disordered  to  their  native  shade, 
And  PHCEBUS  hastens  to  his  high  abode, 
And  ORPHEUS  frowns  to  hear  an  4  Orphic  ode '  1 

Talk  not,  ye  jockeys,  of  the  wondrous  speed 
That  marks  your  Northern  or  your  Southern  steed  • 
See  Progress  fly  o'er  Education's  course ! 
Not  far-famed  Derby  owns  a  fleeter  horse ! 
On  rare  Improvement's  '  short  and  easy '  road, 
How  swift  her  flight  to  Learning's  blest  abode  ! 
In  other  times  —  't  was  many  years  ago  — 
The  scholar's  course  was  toilsome,  rough,  and  slow, 
The  fair  Humanities  were  sought  in  tears, 
And  came,  the  trophy  of  laborious  years. 
Now  Learning's  shrine  each  idle  youth  may  seek, 
And,  spending  there  a  shilling  and  a  week, 
(At  lightest  cost  of  study,  cash,  and  lungs,) 
Come  back,  like  Rumor,  with  a  hundred  tongues ! 

What  boots  such  progress,  when  the  golden  load 
From  heedless  haste  is  lost  upon  the  road  ? 
1* 


10 


When  each  great  science,  to  the  student'?  pace, 
Stands  like  the  wicket  in  a  hurdle  race, 
Which  to  o'erleap  is  all  the  courser's  mind, 
And  all  his  glory  that  't  is  left  behind  ! 

Nor  less,  O  Progress,  are  thy  newest  rules 
Enforced  and  honored  in  the  '  Ladies'  Schools;' 
Where  Education,  in  its  nobler  sense, 
Gives  place  to  Learning's  shallowest  pretence  ; 
Where  hapless  maids,  in  spite  of  wish  or  taste, 
On  vain  '  accomplishments '  their  moments  waste ; 
By  cruel  parents  here  condemned  to  wrench 
Their  tender  throats  in  mispronouncing  French ; 
Here  doomed  to  force,  by  unrelenting  knocks, 
Reluctant  music  from  a  tortured  box ; 
Here  taught,  in  inky  shades  and  rigid  lines, 
To  perpetrate  equivocal  '  designs  ; ' 
'  Drawings '  that  prove  their  title  plainly  true, 
By  showing  nature  '  drawn,'  arid  *  quartered '  too  ! 
Jn  ancient  times,  I  've  heard  my  grandam  tell, 
Young  maids  were  taught  to  read,  and  write,  and 

spell ; 

(Neglected  arts !  once  learned  by  rigid  rules, 
As  prime  essentials  in  the  '  common  schools  ; ') 
Well  taught  beside  in  many  a  useful  art 
To  mend  the  manners  and  improve  the  heart ; 
Nor  yet  unskilled  to  turn  the  busy  wheel, 
To  ply  the  shuttle,  and  to  twirl  the  reel, 
Could  thrifty  tasks  with  cheerful  grace  pursue, 
Themselves  '  accomplished,'  and  their  duties  too. 
Of  tongues,  each  maiden  had  but  one,  't  is  said, 
(Enough,  't  was  thought,  to  serve  a  lady's  head,) 


A    SATIRE.  11 

But  that  was  ENGLISH,  —  great  and  glorious  tongue 
That  CHATHAM  spoke,  and  MILTON,  SHAKSPEARE, 

sung! 

Let  thoughts  too  idle  to  be  fitly  dressed 
In  sturdy  Saxon,  be  in  French  expressed  ; 
Let  lovers  breathe  Italian,  —  like,  in  sooth, 
Its  singers,  soft,  emasculate,  and  smooth ; 
But  for  a  tongue  whose  ample  powers  embrace 
Beauty  and  force,  sublimity  and  grace, 
Ornate  or  plain,  harmonious,  yet  strong, 
And  formed  alike  for  eloquence  and  song, 
Give  me  the  ENGLISH,  —  aptest  tongue  to  paint 
A  sage  or  dunce,  a  villain  or  a  saint, 
To  spur  the  slothful,  counsel  the  distressed, 
To  lash  the  oppressor,  and  to  soothe  the  oppressed, 
To  lend  fantastic  Humor  freest  scope 
To  marshal  all  his  laughter-moving  troop, 
Give  Pathos  power,  and  Fancy  lightest  wings, 
And  Wit  his  merriest  whims  and  keenest  stings !  . 

The  march  of  Progress  let  the  Muse  explore 
In  pseudo-science  and  empiric  lore. 
O  sacred  Science  1  how  art  thou  profaned, 
When  shallow  quacks  and  vagrants,  unrestrained, 
Flaunt  in  thy  robes,  and  vagabonds  are  known 
To  brawl  thy  name,  who  never  wrote  their  own  ; 
When  crazy  theorists  their  addled  schemes 
(Unseemly  product  of  dyspeptic  dreams) 
Impute  to  thee  !  —  as  courtesans  of  yore 
Their  spurious  bantlings  left  at  Mars's  door ; 
When  each  projector  of  a  patent  pill, 
Or  happy  founder  of  a  coffee-mill, 


12 


Invokes  thine  aid  to  celebrate  his  wares, 
And  crown  with  gold  his  philanthropic  cares ; 
Thus  Islam's  hawkers  piously  proclaim 
Their  figs  and  pippins  in  the  Prophet's  name ! 

Some  sage  Physician,  studious  to  advance 
The  art  of  healing,  and  its  praise  enhance, 
By  observation  '  scientific '  finds 
(What  else  were  hidden  from  inferior  minds) 
That  WATER  's  useful  in  a  thousand  ways, 
To  cherish  health,  and  lengthen  out  our  days : 
A  mighty  solvent  in  its  simple  scope, 
And  quite  '  specific '  with  Castilian  soap  ! 
The  doctor's  labors  let  the  thoughtless  scorn, 
See  !  a  new  '  science '  to  the  world  is  born  ; 
4  Disease  is  dirt !  all  pain  the  patient  feels 
Is  but  the  soiling  of  the  vital  wheels ; 
To  wash  away  all  particles  impure, 
And  cleanse  the  system,  plainly,  is  to  cure  ! ' 
Thus  shouts  the  doctor,  eloquent,  and  proud 
To  teach  his  '  science '  to  the  gaping  crowd ; 
Like  *  Father  Mathew,'  eager  to  allure 
Afflicted  mortals  to  his  *  water-cure '  1 

'T  is  thus  that  modern  «  sciences '  are  made, 
By  bold  assumption,  puffing,  and  parade. 
Take   three  stale   '  truths ; '  a  dozen   « facts/ 

sumed ; 

Two  known  *  effects,'  and  fifty  more  presumed ; 
4  Affinities '  a  score,  to  sense  unknown, 
And,  just  as  '  Zuctw,  non  lucendo '  shown, 


A    SATIRE.  13 

Add  but  a  name  of  pompous  Anglo- Greek, 
And  only  not  impossible  to  speak, 
The  work  is  done ;  a  '  science '  stands  confest, 
And  countless  welcomes  greet  the  queenly  guest 

In  closest  girdle,  O  reluctant  Muse, 
In  scantiest  skirts,  and  lightest-stepping  shoes,8 
Prepare  to  follow  FASHION'S  gay  advance, 
And  thread  the  mazes  of  her  motley  dance ; 
And,  marking  well  each  momentary  hue, 
And  transient  form,  that  meets  the  wondering  view, 
In  kindred  colors,  gentle  Muse,  essay 
Her  Protean  phases  fitly  to  portray. 
To-day,  she  slowly  drags  a  cumbrous  trail, 
And  '  Ton '  rejoices  in  its  length  of  tail ; 
To-morrow,  changing  her  capricious  sport, 
She  trims  her  flounces  just  as  much  too  short ; 
To-day,  right  jauntily,  a  hat  she  wears 
That  scarce  affords  a  shelter  to  her  ears ; 
To-morrow,  haply,  searching  long  in  vain, 
You  spy  her  features  down  a  Leghorn  lane ; 
To-day,  she  glides  along  with  queenly  grace, 
To-morrow  ambles  in  a  mincing  pace. 
To-day,  erect,  she  loves  a  martial  air, 
And  envious  train-bands  emulate  the  fair ; 
To-morrow,  changing  as  her  whim  may  serve, 
'  She  stoops  to  conquer'  in  a  '  Grecian  curve.'3 
To-day,  with  careful  negligence  arrayed 
In  scanty  folds,  of  woven  zephyrs  made, 
She  moves  like  Dian  in  her  woody  bowers, 
Or  Flora  floating  o'er  a  bed  of  flowers ; 


14  PROGRESS : 

To-morrow,  laden  with  a  motley  freight, 
Of  startling  bulk  and  formidable  weight, 
She  waddles  forth,  ambitious  to  amaze 
The  vulgar  crowd,  who  giggle  as  they  gaze ! 

Despotic  Fashion  !  potent  is  her  sway, 
Whom  half  the  world  full  loyally  obey, 
Kings  bow  submissive  to  her  stern  decrees, 
And  proud  Republics  bend  their  necks  and  knees ; 
Where'er  we  turn  the  attentive  eye,  is  seen 
The  worshipped  presence  of  the  modish  queen ; 
In  Dress,  Philosophy,  Religion,  Art, 
Whate'er  employs  the  head,  or  hand,  or  heart. 

Is  some  fine  lady  quite  o'ercome  with  woes, 
From  an  unyielding  pimple  on  her  nose,  — 
Some  unaccustomed  '  buzzing  in  her  ears,' 
Or  other  marvel  to  alarm  her  fears  ? 
Fashion,  with  skill  and  judgment  ever  nice, 
At  once  advises  '  medical  advice  ; ' 
Then  names  her  doctor,  who,  arrived  in  haste, 
Proceeds  accordant  with  the  laws  of  taste. 
If  real  ills  afflict  the  modish  dame, 
Her  blind  idolatry  is  still  the  same ; 
Less  grievous  far,  she  deems  it,  to  endure 
Genteel  malpractice,  than  a  vulgar  cure. 
If,  spite  of  gilded  pills  and  golden  fees, 
Her  dear  dyspepsia  grows  a  dire  disease, 
And  Docter  DAPPER  proves  a  shallow  rogue, 
The  world  must  own  that  both  were  much  in  vogue 

What  impious  mockery,  when,  with  soulless  art, 
Fashion,  intrusive,  seeks  to  rule  the  heart ; 


A   SATIRE,  15 

Directs  how  grief  may  tastefully  be  borne  ; 
Instructs  Bereavement  just  how  long  to  mourn ; 
Shows  Sorrow  how  by  nice  degrees  to  fade, 
And  marks  its  measure  in  a  ribbon's  shade ! 
More  impious  still,  when,  through  her  wanton  laws, 
She  desecrates  Religion's  sacred  cause ; 
Shows  how  '  the  narrow  road  '  is  easiest  trod, 
And  how,  genteelest,  worms  may  worship  God ; 
How  sacred  rites  may  bear  a  worldly  grace, 
And  self-abasement  wear  a  haughty  face ; 
How  sinners,  long  in  Folly's  mazes  whirled, 
With  pomp  and  splendor  may  *  renounce  the  world ; 
How  *  with  all  saints  hereafter  to  appear,' 
Yet  quite  escape  the  vulgar  portion  here  1 

Imperial  Fashion  !  her  impartial  care 
Things  most  momentous,  and  most  trivial,  share. 
Now  crushing  conscience  (her  invet'rate  foe), 
And  now  a  waist,  and  now,  perchance,  a  toe ; 
At  once  for  pistols  and  '  the  Polka '  votes, 
And  shapes  alike  our  characters  and  coats ; 
The  gravest  question  which  the  world  divides, 
And  lightest  riddle,  in  a  breath  decides  : 
'  If  wrong  may  not,  by  circumstance,  be  right,'  — 
*  If  black  cravats  be  more  genteel  than  white,'  — 
4  If  by  her  "  bishop,"  or  her  "  grace,"  alone, 
A  genuine  lady,  or  a  church,  is  known ; '  — 
Problems  like  these  she  solves  with  graceful  air, 
At  once  a  casuist  and  a  connoisseur  1 

Does  some  sleek  knave,  whom  magic  money-bags 
Have  raised  above  his  fellow-knaves  in  rags, 


16  PROGRKSS: 

Some  willing  minion  of  unblushing  Vice, 
Who  boasts  that '  Virtue  ever  has  her  price,' — 
Does  he,  unpitying,  blast  thy  sister's  fame, 
Or  doom  thy  daughter  to  undying  shame, 
To  bow  her  head  beneath  the  eye  of  scorn, 
And  droop  and  wither   in  her  maiden  morn  ? 
Fashion  '  regrets,'  declares  '  't  was  very  wrong,' 
And,  quite  dejected,  hums  an  opera  song !  • 
Impartial  friend !  your  cause  to  her  appealed, 
Yourself  and  foe  she  summons  to  the  field, 
"Where  Honor  carefully  the  case  observes, 
And  nicely  weighs  it  in  a  scale  of  nerves ! 
Despotic  rite !  whose  fierce  vindictive  reign 
Boasts,  unrebuked,  its  countless  victims  slain, 
While  Christian  rulers,  recreant,  support 
The  pagan  honors  of  thy  bloody  court, 
And  '  Freedom's  champions '  spurn  their  hallowed 

trust, 
Kneel  at  thy  nod,  and  basely  iitk  the  dust ! 

Degraded  Congress !  once  the  honored  scene 
Of  patriot  deeds ;  where  men  of  solemn  mien, 
In  virtue  strong,  in  understanding  clear, 
Earnest,  though  courteous,  and,  though  smooth,  sin- 
cere, 

To  gravest  counsels  lent  the  teeming  hours, 
And  gave  their  country  all  their  mighty  powers. 
But  times  are  changed ;  a  rude,  degenerate  race 
Usurp  the  seats,  and  shame  the  sacred  place. 
Here  plotting  demagogues,  with  zeal  defend 
The  *  people's  rights,'  —  to  gain  some  private  end ; 


A   SATIRE.  17 

Here  Southern  youths,  on  Folly's  surges  tost, 
Their  fathers'  wisdom  eloquently  boast ; 
(So  dowerless  spinsters  proudly  number  o'er 
The  costly  jewels  that  their  grandams  wore.) 
Here  would-be  TULLYS  pompously  parade 
Their  tumid  tropes  for  simple  '  Buncombe '  made,4 
Full  on  the  chair  the  chilling  torrent  shower, 
And  work  their  word-pumps  through  the  allotted 

hour. 

Deluded  *  Buncombe  ! '  while,  with  honest  praise, 
She  notes  each  grand  and  patriotic  phrase, 
And,  much  rejoicing  in  her  hopeful  son, 
Deems  all  her  own  the  laurels  he  has  won, 
She  little  dreams  how  brother  members  fled, 
And  left  the  house  as  vacant  as  his  head ! 
Here  rural  CHATHAMS,  eager  to  attest 
The  '  growing  greatness  of  the  mighty  West,' 
To  make  the  plainest  proposition  clear, 
Crack  PRISCIAN'S  head,  and  Mr.  SPEAKER'S  ear; 
Then,  closing  up  in  one  terrific  shout, 
Pour  all  their  '  wild-cats '  furiously  out ! 
Here  lawless  boors  with  ruffian  bullies  vie, 
Who  last  shall  give  the  rude,  insulting  '  lie/ 
While  '  Order !  order ! '  loud  the  chairman  calls, 
And  echoing  '  Order  I '  every  member  bawls ; 
Till  rising  high  in  rancorous  debate, 
And  higher  still  in  fierce  envenomed  hate,5 
Retorted  blows  the  scene  of  riot  crown, 
And  big  LYCURGUS  knocks  the  lesser  down  1 

B 


18 


Ye  honest  dames  in  frequent  proverbs  named, 
For  finest  fish  and  foulest  English  famed, 
Whose  matchless  tongues,  'tis  said,  were  never  heard 
To  speak  a  flattering  or  a  feeble  word,  — 
Here  all  your  choice  invective  ye  might  urge 
Our  lawless  Solons  fittingly  to  scourge  ; 
Here,  in  congenial  company,  might  rail 
Till,  quite  worn  out,  your  creaking  voices  fail,  — 
Unless,  indeed,  for  once  compelled  to  yield 
In  wordy  strife,  ye  vanquished  quit  the  field ! 

Hail,  Social  Progress !  each  new  moon  is  rife 
With  some  new  theory  of  social  life, 
Some  matchless  scheme  ingeniously  designed 
From  half  their  miseries  to  free  mankind ; 
On  human  wrongs  triumphant  war  to  wage, 
And  bring  anew  the  glorious  golden  age. 

*  Association '  is  the  magic  word 

From  many  a  social ' priest  afid  prophet'  heard, 
1  Attractive  Labor '  is  the  angel  given, 
To  render  earth  a  sublunary  Heaven  ! 

*  Attractive  Labor ! '  ring  the  changes  round, 
And  labor  grows  attractive  in  the  sound ; 
And  many  a  youthful  mind,  where  haply  lurk 
Unwelcomed  fancies  at  the  name  of  '  work,' 
Sees  pleasant  pastime  in  its  longing  view 

Of  '  toil  made  easy '  and  '  attractive  *  too, 
And,  fancy-rapt,  with  joyful  ardor,  turns 
Delightful  grindstones  and  seductive  churns ! 
4  Men  are  not  bad,'  these  social  sages  preach, 
4  Men  are  not  what  their  actions  seem  to  teach ; 


A   SATIRE.  19 

No  moral  ill  is  natural  or  fixed,  — 

Men  only  err  by  being  badly  mixed  ! ' 

To  them  the  world  a  huge  plum-pudding  seems, 

Made  up  of  richest  viands,  fruits,  and  creams, 

Which  of  all  choice  ingredients  partook, 

And  then  was  ruined  by  a  blundering  cook ! 

Inventive  France !  what  wonder-working  schemes 
Astound  the  world  whene'er  a  Frenchman  dreams 
What  fine-spun  theories,  —  ingenious,  new, 
Sublime,  stupendous,  everything  but  true ! 
One  little  favor,  O  '  Imperial  France  '  I 
Still  teach  the  world  to  cook,  to  dress,  to  dance ; 
Let,  if  thou  wilt,  thy  boots  and  barbers  roam, 
But  keep  thy  morals  and  thy  creeds  at  home ! 

O  might  the  Muse  prolong  her  flowing  rhyme, 
(Too  closely  cramped  by  unrelenting  Time, 
Whose  dreadful  scythe  swings  heedlessly  along, 
And,  missing  speeches,  clips  the  thread  of  song,) 
How  would  she  strive,  in  fitting  verse,  to  sing 
The  wondrous  Progress  of  the  Printing  King ! 
Bibles  and  Novels,  Treatises  and  Songs, 
Lectures  on  '  Rights,'  and  Strictures  upon  Wrongs; 
Verse  in  all  metres,  Travels  in  all  climes, 
Rhymes  without  reason,  Sonnets  without  rhymes; 
4  Translations  from  the  French,'  so  vilely  done, 
The  wheat  escaping  leaves  the  chaff  alone ; 
Memoirs,  where  dunces  sturdily  essay 
To  cheat  Oblivion  of  her  certain  prey ; 
Critiques,  where  pedants  vauntingly  expose 
Unlicensed'  verses,  in  unlawful  prose  ; 


20 


Lampoons,  whose  authors  strive  in  vain  to  throw 

Their  headless  arrows  from  a  nerveless  bow ; 

Poems  by  youths,  who,  crossing  Nature's  will, 

Harangue  the  landscape  they  were  born  to  till ; 

Huge  tomes  of  Law,  that  lead  by  rugged  routes 

Through  ancient  dogmas  down  to  modern  doubts ; 

Where  Judges  oft,  with  well-affected  ease, 

Give  learned  reasons  for  absurd  decrees, 

Or,  more  ingenious  still,  contrive  to  found 

Some  just  decision  on  fallacious  ground,' 

Or  blink  the  point,  and,  haply,  in  its  place, 

Moot  and  decide  some  hypothetic  case ; 

Smart  Epigrams,  all  sadly  out  of  joint, 

And  pointless,  —  save  the  '  exclamation  point, 

Which  stands  in  state,  with  vacant  wonder  fraught, 

The  pompous  tombstone  of  some  pauper  thought ; 

Ingenious  systems  based  on  doubtful  facts, 

*  Tracts  for  the  Times,'  and  most  untimely  tracts ; 

Polemic  Pamphlets,  Literary^toys, 

And  Easy  Lessons  for  uneasy  boys ; 

Hebdomadal  Gazettes,  and  Daily  News, 

Gay  Magazines,  and  Quarterly  Reviews ;  — 

Small  portion  these,  of  all  the  vast  array 

Of  darkened  leaves  that  cloud  each  passing  day, 

And  pour  then*  tide  unceasingly  along, 

A  gathering,  swelling,  overwhelming  throng ! 

Cease,  O  my  Muse,  nor,  indiscreet,  prolong 
To  epic  length  thy  unambitious  song. 
Good  friends,  be  gentle  to  a  maiden  Muse, 
Her  errors  pardon,  and  her  faults  excuse. 


A    SATIHE.  21 

4 

Not  uninvited  to  her  task  she  came,9 

To  sue  for  favor,  not  to  seek  for  fame. 

Be  this,  at  least,  her  just  though  humble  praise  : 

No  stale  excuses  heralded  her  lays, 

No  singer's  trick,  —  conveniently  to  bring 

A  sudden  cough,  when  importuned  to  sing;7 

No  deprecating  phrases,  learned  by  rote/  — 

'  She  'd  quite  forgot/  or  '  never  knew  a  note/  — 

But  to  her  task,  with  ready  zeal,  addressed 

Her  earnest  care,  and  aimed  to  do  her  best ; 

Strove  to  be  just  in  each  satiric  word, 

To  doubtful  wit  undoubted  truth  preferred, 

To  please  and  profit  equally  has  aimed, 

Nor  been  ill-natured  even  when  she  blamed. 


THE  PROUD  MISS  MAC  BRIDE: 


A    LEGEND    OF    GOTHAM. 


O,  TERRIBLY  proud  was  Miss  Mac  Bride, 
The  very  personification  of  Piide, 
As  she  minced  along  in  Fashion's  tide, 
Adown  Broadway,  —  on  the  proper  side, — 

When  the  golden  sun  was  setting ; 
There  was  pride  in  the  head  she  carried  so  high, 
Pride  in  her  lip,  and  pride  in  her  eye, 
And  a  world  of  pride  in  the  very  sigh 

That  her  stately  bosom-  was  fretting ; 


A  sigh  that  a  pair  of  elegant  feet, 
Sandalled  in  satin,  should  kiss  the  street,  - 
The  very  same  that  the  vulgar  greet 
In  common  leather  not  over  '  neat,'  — 

For  such  is  the  common  booting ; 
(And  Christian  tears  may  well  be  shed, 
That  even  among  our  gentlemen  bred, 
The  glorious  day  of  Morocco  is  dead, 
And  Day  and  Martin  are  raining  instead, 

On  a  much  inferior  footing  ! ) 


THE    PROUD    MISS    MAC   BRIDE.  23 


O,  terribly  proud  was  Miss  Mac  Bride, 
Proud  of  her  beauty,  and  proud  of  her  pride, 
And  proud  of  fifty  matters  beside 

That  would  n't  have  borne  dissection ; 
Proud  of  her  wit,  and  proud  of  her  walk, 
Proud  of  her  teeth,  and  proud  of  her  talk, 
Proud  of '  knowing  cheese  from  chalk,' 

On  a  very  slight  inspection ! 

IV. 

Proud  abroad,  and  proud  at  home, 
Proud  wherever  she  chanced  to  come, 
When  she  was  glad,  and  when  she  was  glum ; 

Proud  as  the  head  of  a  Saracen 
Over  the  door  of  a  tippling  shop  !  — 
Proud  as  a  duchess,  proud  as  a  fop, 
«  Proud  as  a  boy  with  a  bran-new  top,' 

Proud  beyond  comparison  1 

v. 

It  seems  a  singular  thing  to  say, 
But  her  very  senses  led  her  astray 

Respecting  all  humility ; 
In  sooth,  her  dull  auricular  drum 
Could  find  in  Humble  only  a  *  hum,' 
And  heard  no  sound  of '  gentle '  come, 

In  talking  about  gentility. 

n. 

What  Lowly  meant  she  did  n't  know, 
For  she  always  avoided  '  everything  low,' 


24  THE    PROUD    MISS    MAC    BRIDE. 

With  care  the  most  punctilious, 
And  queerer  still,  the  audible  sound 
Of  *  super-silly '  she  never  had  found 

In  the  adjective  supercilious  1 


The  meaning  of  Meek  she  never  knew, 
But  imagined  the  phrase  had  something  to  do 
With  '  Moses,'  —  a  peddling  German  Jew, 
Who,  like  all  hawkers  the  country  through, 

Was  a  person  of  no  position  ; 
And  it  seemed  to  her  exceedingly  plain, 
If  the  word  was  really  known  to  pertain 
To  a  vulgar  German,  it  was  n't  germane 

To  a  lady  of  high  condition ! 


Even  her  graces,  —  not  her  grace, 
For  that  was  in  the  *  vocative  case/  — 
Chilled  with  the  touch  of  her  icy  face, 

Sat  very  stiffly  upon  her ; 
She  never  confessed  a  favor  aloud, 
Like  one  of  the  simple,  common  crowd, 
But  coldly  smiled,  and  faintly  bowed, 
As  who  should  say :  *  You  do  me  proud, 

And  do  yourself  an  honor  1 ' 


And  yet  the  pride  of  Miss  Mac  Bride, 
Although  it  had  fifty  hobbies  to  ride, 
Had  really  no  foundation ; 


THE   PROUD    MISS   MAC   BRIDE.  25 

But,  like  the  fabrics  that  gossips  devise, — 
Those  single  stories  that  often  arise 
And  grow  till  they  reach  a  four-story  size,  — 
Was  merely  a  fancy  creation  1 

x. 

'T  is  a  curious  fact  as  ever  was  known 
In  human  nature,  but  often  shown 

Alike  in  castle  and  cottage, 
That  pride,  like  pigs  of  a  certain  breed, 
Will  manage  to  live  and  thrive  on  *  feed  ' 

As  poor  as  a  pauper's  pottage  ! 

XI. 

That  her  wit  should  never  have  made  her  vain, 
Was,  like  her  face,  sufficiently  plain ; 

And  as  to  her  musical  powers, 
Although  she  sang  until  she  was  hoarse, 
And  issued  notes  with  a  Banker's  force, 
They  were  just  such  notes  as  we  never  indorse 

For  any  acquaintance  of  ours ! 


Her  birth,  indeed,  was  uncommonly  high, 
For  Miss  Mac  Bride  first  opened  her  eye 
Through  a  sky-light  dim,  on  the  light  of  the  sky ; 

But  pride  is  a  curious  passion, 
And  in  talking  about  her  wealth  and  worth, 
She  always  forgot  to  mention  her  birth, 

To  people  of  rank  and  fashion  ! 
2 


26  THE    PROUD    MISS    MAC    BRIDE. 


•  Of  all  the  notable  things  on  earth, 
The  queerest  one  is  pride  of  birth, 

Among  our  *  fierce  Democratic  '  1 
A  bridge  across  a  hundred  years, 
Without  a  prop  to  save  it  from  sneers,  — 
Not  even  a  couple  of  rotten  Peers,  — 
A  thing  for  laughter,  fleers,  and  jeers, 

Is  American  aristocracy ! 


English  and  Irish,  French  and  Spanish, 
German,  Italian,  Dutch  and  Danish, 
Crossing  their  veins  until  they  vanish 

In  one  conglomeration ! 
So  subtle  a  tangle  of  Blood,  indeed, 
No  heraldry-Harvey  will  ever  succeed 

In  finding  the  circulation  1 


Depend  upon  it,  my  snobbish  friend, 
Your  family  thread  you  can't  ascend, 
Without  good  reason  to  apprehend 
You  may  find  it  waxed  at  the  farther  end 

By  some  plebeian  vocation  ! 
Or,  worse  than  that,  your  boasted  Line 
May  end  in  a  loop  of  stronger  twine, 

That  plagued  some  worthy  relation  I 

XVI. 

But  Miss  Mac  Bride  hath  something  beside 
Her  lofty  birth  to  nourish  her  pride,  — 


THE   PROUD    MISS    MAC    BRIDE.  27 

For  rich  was  the  old  paternal  Mac  Bride, 

According  to  public  rumor ; 
And  he  lived  '  Up  Town,'  in  a  splendid  Square, 
And  kept  his  daughter  on  dainty  fare, 
And  gave  her  gems  that  were  rich  and  rare. 
And  the  finest  rings  and  things  to  wear, 

And  feathers  enough  to  plume  her  1 


An  honest  mechanic  was  John  Mac  Bride, 
As  ever  an  honest  calling  plied, 

Or  graced  an  honest  ditty  ; 
For  John  had  worked  in  his  early  day, 
In  '  Pots  and  Pearls,'  the  legends  say, 
And  kept  a  shop  with  a  rich  array 
Of  things  in  the  soap  and  candle  way, 

In  the  lower  part  of  the  city. 

XVIII. 

No  rara  avis  was  honest  John, 
(That's  the  Latin  for  «  sable  swan,') 

Though,  in  one  of  his  fancy  flashes, 
A  wicked  wag,  who  meant  to  deride, 
Called  honest  John  *  Old  Phoenix  Mac  Bride,' 

*  Because  he  rose  from  his  ashes ! ' 

XIX. 

Little  by  little  he  grew  to  be  rich, 
By  saving  of  candle-ends  and  '  sich,' 
Till  he  reached,  at  last,  an  opulent  niche,  — 
No  very  uncommon  affair ; 


8  THE    PROUD    MISS    MAC    BRIDE. 

For  history  quite  confirms  the  law 
Expressed  in  the  ancient  Scottish  saw, 
A  MICKLE  may  come  to  be  May'r  !  * 


Alack  !  for  many  ambitious  beaux  ! 
She  hung  their  hopes  upon  her  nose, 

(The  figure  is  quite  Horatian !  f) 
Until  from  habit  the  member  grew 
As  queer  a  thing  as  ever  you  knew 

Turn  up  to  observation  1 


A  thriving  tailor  begged  her  hand, 

But  she  gave  '  the  fellow '  to  understand, 

By  a  violent  manual  action, 
She  perfectly  scorned  the  best  of  his  clan, 
And  reckoned  the  ninth  of  any  man 

An  exceedingly  Vulgar- Fraction ! 

XXII. 

Another,  whose  sign  was  a  golden  boot, 
Was  mortified  with  a  bootless  suit, 

In  a  way  that  was  quite  appalling ; 
For  though  a  regular  sutor  by  trade, 
He  was  n't  a  suitor  to  suit  the  maid, 
Who  cut  him  off  with  a  saw,  —  and  bade 

*  The  cobbler  keep  to  his  calling.' 

*  Mickle  wi'  thrift  may  chance  to  be  mair.  —  Scotch  Proverb, 
Andrew  Mickle,  former  Mayor  of  New  York. 
t  "  Omnia  suspendens  naso." 


THE    PROUD    MISS    MAC    BRIDE.  29 

XXIII. 

(The  Muse  must  let  a  secret  out,  — 
There  is  n't  the  faintest  shadow  of  doubt, 
That  folks  who  oftenest  sneer  and  flout 

At '  the  dirty,  low  mechanicals,* 
Are  they  whose  sires,  by  pounding  their  knees, 
Or  coiling  their  legs,  or  trades  like  these, 
Contrived  to  win  their  children  ease 

From  poverty's  galling  manacles.) 


A  rich  tobacconist  comes  and  sues, 
And,  thinking  the  lady  would  scarce  refuse 
A  man  of  his  wealth  and  liberal  views, 
Began,  at  once,  with  '  If  you  choose,  — 

And  could  you  really  love  him  — ' 
But  the  lady  spoiled  his  speech  in  a  huff, 
With  an  answer  rough  and  ready  enough, 
To  let  him  know  she  was  up  to  snuff, 

And  altogether  above  him  1 


A  young  attorney  of  winning  grace, 
Was  scarce  allowed  to  '  open  his  face,' 
Ere  Miss  Mac  Bride  had  closed  his  case 

With  true  judicial  celerity ; 
For  the  lawyer  was  poor,  and  *  seedy '  to  boot, 
And  to  say  the  lady  discarded  his  suit, 

Is  merely  a  double  verity. 


SO  THE   PROUD    MISS   MAC   BRIDE. 

XXVI. 

The  last  of  those  who  came  to  court 

Was  a  lively  beau  of  the  dapper  sort, 

*  Without  any  visible  means  of  support,'  — 

A  crime  by  no  means  flagrant 
In  one  who  wears  an  elegant  coat, 
But  the  very  point  on  which  they  vote 

A  ragged  fellow  '  a  vagrant/ 


A  courtly  fellow  was  Dapper  Jim, 
Sleek  and  supple,  and  tall  and  trim, 
And  smooth  of  tongue  as  neat  of  limb ; 

And,  maugre  his  meagre  pocket, 
You  'd  say,  from  the  glittering  tales  he  told, 
That  Jim  had  slept  in  a  cradle  of  gold, 

With  Fortunatus  to  rock  it  I 

XXVIII. 

Now  Dapper  Jim  his  courtship  plied, 

(I  wish  the  fact  could  be  denied,) 

With  an  eye  to  the  purse  of  the  old  Mac  Bride, 

And  really  '  nothing  shorter ' ! 
For  he  said  to  himself,  in  his  greedy  lust, 
*  Whenever  he  dies,  —  as  die  he  must,  — 
And  yields  to  Heaven  his  vital  trust, 
He  's  very  sure  to  "  come  down  with  his  dust," 

In  behalf  of  his  only  daughter.' 


And  the  very  magnificent  Miss  Mac  Bride, 
Half  in  love  and  half  in  pride, 


THE   PROUD    MISS    MAC    BRIDE.  31 

Quite  graciously  relented ; 
And  tossing  her  head,  and  turning  her  back, 
No  token  of  proper  pride  to  lack, 
To  be  a  Bride  without  the  '  Mac, 

With  much  disdain,  consented  ! 


Alas !  that  people  who  've  got  their  box 
Of  cash  beneath  the  best  of  locks, 
Secure  from  all  financial  shocks, 
Should  stock  their  fancy  with  fancy  stocks, 
And  madly  rush  upon  Wall-street  rocks, 

Without  the  least  apology ! 
Alas  !  that  people  whose  money  affairs 
Are  sound  beyond  all  need  of  repairs, 
Should  ever  tempt  the  bulls  and  bears 

Of  Mammon's  fierce  Zoology  ! 

XXXI. 

Old  John  Mac  Bride,  one  fatal  day, 
Became  the  unresisting  prey 

Of  Fortune's  undertakers ; 
And  staking  his  all  on  a  single  die, 
His  foundered  bark  went  high  and  dry 

Among  the  brokers  and  breakers  I 

XXXII. 

At  his  trade  again  in  the  very  shop 
Where,  years  before,  he  let  it  drop, 

He  follows  Tiis  ancient  calling,  — 
Cheerily,  too,  in  poverty's  spite, 


32  THE   PROUD    MISS    MAC   BRIDE. 

And  sleeping  quite  as  sound  at  night, 
As  when,  at  Fortune's  giddy  height, 
He  used  to  wake  with  a  dizzy  fright 
From  a  dismal  dream  of  falling. 

XXXIII. 

But  alas  for  the  haughty  Miss  Mac  Bride  ! 
* T  was  such  a  shock  to  her  precious  pride  ! 
She  could  n't  recover,  although  she  tried 

Her  jaded  spirits  to  rally; 
*T  was  a  dreadful  change  in  human  affairs 
From  a  Place  *  Up  Town,'  to  a  nook  '  Up  Stairs, 

From  an  Avenue  down  to  an  Alley ! 


'T  was  little  condolence  she  had,  God  wot, 
From  her  '  troops  of  friends/  who  had  n't  forgot 

The  airs  she  used  to  borrow ; 
They  had  civil  phrases  enough,  but  yet 
'T  was  plain  to  see  that  their  '  deepest  regret ' 

Was  a  different  thing  from  Sorrow  1 

XXXV. 

They  owned  it  could  n't  have  well  been  worse, 

To  go  from  a  full  to  an  empty  purse ; 

To  expect  a  reversion  and  get  a  '  reverse,' 

Was  truly  a  dismal  feature ; 
But  it  was  n't  strange, — they  whispered,  —  at  all; 
That  the  Summer  of  pride  should  have  its  Fall, 

Was  quite  according  to  Nature  1    . 


THE   PROUD    MISS   MAC   BRIDE.  33 

XXXYI. 

And  one  of  those  chaps  who  make  a  pun,  — 
As  if  it  were  quite  legitimate  fun 
To  be  blazing  away  at  every  one, 
With  a  regular  double-loaded  gun,  — 

Remarked  that  moral  transgression 
Always  brings  retributive  stings 
To  candle-makers,  as  well  as  kings : 
And  making  light  of  ccrcous  things, 

Was  a  very  wick-ed  profession  1 


And  vulgar  people,  the  saucy  churls, 
Inquired  about '  the  price  of  Pearls/ 

And  mocked  at  her  situation ; 
*  She  was  n't  ruined,  —  they  ventured  to  hope,  — 
Because  she  was  poor,  she  need  n't  mope,  — 
Pew  people  were  better  off  for  soap, 

And  that  was  a  consolation ! ' 


XXXVIII. 

And  to  make  her  cup  of  woe  run  over, 
Her  elegant,  ardent,  plighted  lover 

Was  the  very  first  to  forsake  her ; 
'He  quite  regretted  the  step,  'twas  true,—- 
The  lady  had  pride  enough  "  for  two," 
But  that  alone  would  never  do 

To  quiet  the  butcher  and  baker  I' 
2*  c 


34  THE  PROUD   MISS    MAC   BRIDE. 

XXXIX. 

And  now  the  unhappy  Miss  Mac  Bride, 
The  merest  ghost  of  her  early  pride, 

Bewails  her  lonely  position ; 
Cramped  in  the  very  narrowest  niche, 
Above  the  poor,  and  below  the  rich, 

Was  ever  a  worse  condition  ? 


Because  you  flourish  in  worldly  affairs, 
Don't  be  haughty,  and  put  on  airs, 

With  insolent  pride  of  station ! 
Don't  be  proud,  and  turn  up  your  nose 
At  poorer  people  in  plainer  clo'es, 
But  learn,  for  the  sake  of  your  soul's  repose, 
That  wealth  's  a  bubble,  that  comes  —  and  goes ! 
And  that  all  Proud  Flesh,-A7terever  it  grows, 

Is  subject  to  irritation  I 


THE  BRIEFLESS  BARRISTER. 

A   BALLAD. 

AN  Attorney  was  taking  a  turn, 
In  shabby  habiliments  drest ; 

His  coat  it  was  shockingly  worn, 
And  the  rust  had  invested  his  vest. 

His  breeches  had  suffered  a  breach, 
His  linen  and  worsted  were  worse ; 

He  had  scarce  a  whole  crown  in  his  hat, 
And  not  half-a-crown  in  his  purse. 

And  thus  as  he  wandered  along, 
A  cheerless  and  comfortless  elf, 

He  sought  for  relief  in  a  song, 

Or  complainingly  talked  to  himself:  — 

*  Unfortunate  man  that  I  am  1 
I  've  never  a  client  but  grief; 

The  case  is,  I  've  no  case  at  all, 

And  in  brief,  I  've  ne'er  had  a  brief  1 


86  THE   BRIEFLESS    BARRISTER. 

*  I  've  waited  and  waited  in  vain, 
Expecting  an  "  opening  "  to  find, 

Where  an  honest  young  lawyer  might  gain 
Some  reward  for  toil  of  his  mind. 


"T  is  not  that  I  'm  wanting  in  law, 

Or  lack  an  intelligent  face, 
That  others  have  cases  to  plead, 

While  I  have  to  plead  for  a  case. 

*  O,  how  can  a  modest  young  man 

E'er  hope  for  the  smallest  progression,  — 

The  profession's  already  so  full 
Of  lawyers  so  full  of  profession!' 

While  thus  he  was  strolling  around, 

His  eye  accidentally  fell 
On  a  very  deep  hole  intfie  ground, 

And  he  sighed  to  himself,  *  It  is  well  1 ' 

To  curb  his  emotions,  he  sat 

On  the  curbstone  the  space  of  a  minute, 
Then  cried, « Here  's  an  opening  at  last  I ' 

And  in  less  than  a  jiffy  was  in  it ! 

Next  morning  twelve  citizens  came, 
('Twas  the  coroner  bade  them  attend,) 

To  the  end  that  it  might  be  determined 
How  the  man  had  determined  his  end  ! 


THE    BRIEFLESS    BARRISTER.  37 

*  The  man  was  a  lawyer,  I  hear,' 

Quoth  the  foreman  who  sat  on  the  corse. 

*  A  lawyer  ?     Alas ! '  said  another, 

*  Undoubtedly  died  of  remorse  1 ' 

A  third  said,  *  He  knew  the  deceased, 
An  attorney  well  versed  in  the  laws, 

And  as  to  the  cause  of  his  death, 

'T  was  no  doubt  for  the  want  of  a  cause.' 

The  jury  decided  at  length, 

After  solemnly  weighing  the  matter, 

That  the  lawyer  was  drownt/ed,  because 
He  could  not  keep  his  head  above  water  1* 


RHYME   OF  THE  RAH,. 

SINGING  through  the  forests, 

Rattling  over  ridges, 
Shooting  under  arches, 

Rumbling  over  bridges, 
Whizzing  through  the  mountains, 

Buzzing  o'er  the  vale, — 
Bless  me  !  this  is  pleasant, 

Riding  on  the  Rail  1 

Men  of  different '  stations  * 

In  the  eye  of  Fame 
Here  are  very  quickly 

Coming  to  the  same. 
High  and  lowly  people, 

Birds  of  every  feather, 
On  a  common  level 

Travelling  together ! 

Gentleman  in  shorts, 

Looming  very  tall ; 
Gentleman  at  large, 

Talking  very  small ; 
Gentleman  in  tights, 

With  a  loose-ish  mien ; 
Gentleman  in  gray, 

Looking  rather  green. 


RHYME   OF   THE   RAIL.  39 

Gentleman  quite  old, 

Asking  for  the  news  ; 
Gentleman  m  black, 

In  a  fit  of  bluesy 
Gentleman  in  claret, 

Sober  as  a  vicar ; 
Gentleman  in  Tweed, 

Dreadfully  in  liquor  1 

Stranger  on  the  right, 
Looking  very  sunny, 

Obviously  reading 

Something  rather  funny. 

Now  the  smiles  are  thicker, 
Wonder  what  they  mean  ? 

Faith,  he  's  got  the  KNICKER- 
BOCKER Magazine  1 

Stranger  on  the  left, 

Closing  up  his  peepers ; 
Now  he  snores  amain, 

Like  the  Seven  Sleepers ; 
At  his  feet  a  volume 

Gives  the  explanation, 
How  the  man  grew  stupid 

From  '  Association '  1 

Ancient  maiden  lady 

Anxiously  remarks, 
That  there  must  be  peril 

'Mong  so  many  sparks ; 


40  RHYME   OF   THE  RAIL. 

Roguish-looking  fellow, 
Turning  to  the  stranger, 

Says  it 's  his  opinion 
She  is  out  of  danger  I 

Woman  with  her  baby, 

Sitting  vis-a-vis ; 
Baby  keeps  a  squalling, 

Woman  looks  at  me  ; 
Asks  about  the  distance, 

Says  it 's  tiresome  talking, 
Noises  of  the  cars 

Are  so  very  shocking ! 

Market-woman  careful 

Of  the  precious  casket, 
Knowing  eggs  are  eggs, 

Tightly  holds  her  basket ; 
Feeling  that  a  smash,. 

If  it  came,  would  surely 
Send  her  eggs  to  pot 

Rather  prematurely ! 

Singing  through  the  forests, 

Rattling  over  ridges, 
Shooting  under  arches, 

Rumbling  over  bridges, 
Whizzing  through  the  mountains, 

Buzzing  o'er  the  vale  ; 
Bless  me  !  this  is  pleasant, 

Riding  on  the  Rail  1 


THE  KAPE   OF  THE  LOCK; 

OR,    CAPTAIN   JONES'S    MISADVENTURE. 


To  follow  the  line  of  Captain  JONES 
Back  to  the  old  ancestral  bones 

Were  surely  an  idle  endeavor; 
For  all  that  is  known  of  the  family  feats 
Is  that  his  sire,  as  a  paver  of  streets, 
Had  paved  his  way  in  a  manner  that  meets 

The  appellation  of  clever. 

n. 

'T  were  pleasant  enough  more  fully  to  trace 
The  various  steps  in  the  Captain's  race, 

If  the  records  of  heraldry  had  'em ; 
But  History  leaps  at  a  single  span 
From  the  primitive  pah*  to  the  pavior-man, 

From  ADAM  down  to  MAC  ADAM. 

in. 

'T  was  rumored  indeed,  but  nobody  knows 
What  credit  to  give  to  such  rumors  as  those, 
His  grandpapa  was  a  cooper ; 


42  THE   RAPE   OF   THE   LOCK. 

But  getting  fatigued  with  this  roundabout  mode 
Of  staving  through  life,  he  took  to  the  Road, 
As  a  kind  of  irregular  trooper. 


But  soon,  although  a  fellow  of  pluck, 
By  a  singular  turn  in  the  wheel  of  luck, 

He  met  with  a  mortal  miscarriage, 
By  means  of  a  cord  that  was  dangling  loose, 
And  fell  over  his  head  in  a  dangerous  noose 

That  was  n't  at  all  like  Marriage. 


A  tale  invented  by  foes,  no  doubt, 
Which  idle  people  had  helped  about, 
Till  it  went  alone,  it  got  so  stout ; 

For  as  to  the  truth  of  the  story, 
I  scarcely  ought  to  have  named  it  here, 
It  seems  to  me  so  exceedingly  clear, 

The  fable  is  Newgate-ory. 

VI. 

And  that 's  the  pith  of  the  pedigree 
Of  Captain  JOXES,  whose  family  tree 
Was  a  little  shrub,  't  is  plain  to  see ; 

But  what  the  topers  mention 
Respecting  wine,  is  true  of  blood : 
It '  needs  no  bush  if  it 's  only  good,' 
Much  less  a  tree  of  the  oldest  wood, 

To  warrant  the  world's  attention. 


THE    RAPE    OF    THE   LOCK.  43 

VII. 

Now  Captain  JONES  was  a  five-feet  ten, 
(The  height  of  CHESTERFIELD'S  gentlemen,) 

With  a  nianly  breadth  of  shoulder ; 
And  Captain  JOXES  was  straight  and  trim, 
With  nothing  about  him  anywise  slim, 
And  had  for  a  leg  as  perfect  a  limb 

As  ever  astonished  beholder  1 


With  a  calf  of  such  a  notable  size, 

'T  would  surely  have  taken  the  highest  prize 

At  any  fair  Fair  in  creation ; 
'T  was  just  the  leg  for  a  prince  to  sport 
Who  wished  to  stand  at  a  Royal  Court, 

At  the  head  of  Foreign  Leg-ation  1 


And  Captain  JONES  had  an  elegant  foot, 
'T  was  just  the  thing  for  his  patent  boot, 

And  could  so  prettily  shove  it, 
'T  was  a  genuine  pleasure  to  see  it  repeat 
In  the  public  walks  the  Milonian  feat 

Of  bearing  the  calf  above  it ! 

x. 

But  the  Captain's  prominent  personal  charm 
Was  neither  his  foot,  nor  leg,  nor  arm, 

Nor  his  very  distingue  air ; 
Nor  was  it,  although  you  're  thinking  upon  't, 
The  front  of  his  head,  but  his  head  and  front 

Of  beautiful  coal-black  hair  1 


44  THE   RAPE    OF    THE  LOCK. 

XI. 

So  very  bright  -was  the  gloss  they  had, 
'T  would  have  made  a  rival  raving  mad 

To  look  at  his  raven  curls ; 
Wherever  he  went,  the  Captain's  hair 
Was  certain  to  fix  the  public  stare, 
And  the  constant  cry  was, '  I  declare ! ' 
And  '  Did  you  ever ! '  and  '  Just  look  there  1  * 

Among  the  dazzled  girls. 


Now  Captain  JONES  was  a  master  bold 
Of  a  merchant-ship  some  dozen  years  old, 
And  every  name  could  have  easily  told, 
(•And  never  confound  the  '  hull '  and  the  '  hold,') 

Throughout  her  inventory ; 
And  he  had  travelled  in  foreign  parts, 
And  learned  a  number  of--foreign  arts, 
And  played  the  deuce  with  foreign  hearts, 

As  the  Captain  told  the  story. 


XIII. 

He  had  learned  to  chatter  the  French  and  Spanish, 
To  splutter  the  Dutch,  and  mutter  the  Danish, 

In  a  way  that  sounded  oracular ; 
Had  gabbled  among  the  Portuguese, 
And  caught  the  Tartar,  or  rather  a  piece 
Of  *  broken  China,'  it  was  n't  Chinese, 

Anv  more  than  his  own  vernacular ! 


THE   RAPE    OF    THE   LOCK.  45 

XIV. 

How  Captain  JONES  was  wont  to  shine 

In  the  line  of  ships !  (not  Ships  of  the  Line,) 

How  he  'd  brag  of  the  water  aver  his  wine, 

And  of  woman  over  the  water ! 
And  then,  if  you  credit  the  Captain's  phrase, 
He  was  more  expert  in  such  queer  ways 
As  '  doubling  capes '  and  '  putting  in  stays,' 

Than  any  milliner's  daughter  1 

XV. 

Now  the  Captain  kept  in  constant  pay 
A  single  Mate,  as  a  Captain  may 
(In  a  nautical,  not  in  a  naughty  way, 

As  'mates'  are  sometimes  carried)  ; 
But  to  hear  him  prose  of  the  squalls  that  arose 
In  the  dead  of  the  night  to  break  his  repose, 
Of  white-caps  and  cradles,  and  such  things  as  those, 
And  of  breezes  that  ended  in  regular  blows, 

You  'd  have  sworn  the  Captain  was  married 

XVI. 

The  Captain's  morals  were  fair  enough, 
Though  a  sailor's  life  is  rather  rough, 

By  dint  of  the  ocean's  force ; 
'And  that  one  who  makes  so  many,  in  ships, 
Should  make,  upon  shore,  occasional  *  trips,' 

Seems  quite  a  matter  of  course. 


And  Captain  JONES  was  stiff  as  a  post 
To  the  vulgar  fry,  but  among  the  most 


46  THE   RAPE   OF    THE   LOCK. 

Genteel  and  polished,  ruled  the  roast, 
As  no  professional  cook  could  boast 

That  ever  you  set  your  eye  on  ; 
Indeed,  't  was  enough  to  make  him  vain, 
For  the  pretty  and  proud  confessed  his  reign, 
And  Captain  JOXES,  in  manners  and  mane, 

Was  deemed  a  genuine  lion. 


XVIII. 

And  the  Captain  revelled  early  and  late, 
At  the  balls  and  routs  of  the  rich  and  great, 
And  seemed  the  veriest  child  of  fetes, 

Though  merely  a  minion  of  pleasure  ; 
And  he  laughed  with  the  girls  in  merry  sport, 
And  paid  the  mammas  the  civilest  court, 
And  drank  their  wine,  whatever  the  sort, 
By  the  nautical  rule  of '  Any  port ' 

You  may  add  the  re^st  at  leisure. 


XIX. 

Miss  SUSAN  BROWN  was  a  dashing  girl 
As  ever  revolved  in  the  waltz's  whirl, 
Or  twinkled  a  foot  in  the  polka's  twirl, 

By  the  glare  of  spermaceti ; 
And  SUSAN'S  form  was  trim  and  slight, 
And  her  beautiful  skin,  as  if  in  spite 
Of  her  dingy  name,  ,was  exceedingly  white, 
And  her  azure  eyes  were  *  sparkling  and  bright,' 

And  so  was  her  favorite  ditty. 


THE   RAPE    OF   THE    LOCK.  47 

XX. 

And  SUSAN  BROWN  had  a  score  of  names, 
Like  the  very  voluminous  Mr.  JAMES 
(Who  got  at  the  Font  his  strongest  claims 

To  be  reckoned  a  Man  of  Letters)  ; 
But  thinking  the  task  will  hardly  please 
Scholars  who  Jve  taken  the  higher  degrees, 
To  be  set  repeating  their  A,  B,  C's, 
I  choose  to  reject  such  fetters  as  these, 

Though  merely  Nominal  fetters. 


The  patronymical  name  of  the  maid 
Was  so  completely  overlaid 

With  a  long  praenominal  cover, 
That  if  each  additional  proper  noun 
Was  laid  with  additional  emphasis  down, 
Miss  SUSAN  was  done  uncommonly  BROWN, 

The  moment  her  christ'ning  was  over  1 


And  SUSAN  was  versed  in  modern  romance, 
In  the  Modes  of  MURRAY  and  Modes  of  France, 
And  had  learned  to  sing  and  learned  to  dance, 

In  a  style  decidedly  pretty ; 
And  SUSAN  was  versed  in  classical  lore, 
In  the  works  of  HORACE,  and  several  more 
Whose  opera  now  would  be  voted  a  bore 

By  the  lovers  of  DONIZETTI. 


48  T1IE  RAPE   OF   THE   LOCK. 

XXIII. 

And  SUSAN  was  rich.    Her  provident  sire 
Had  piled  the  dollars  up  higher  and  higher, 

By  dint  of  his  personal  labors, 
Till  he  reckoned  at  last  a  sufficient  amount 
To  be  counted,  himself,  a  man  of  account 

Among  his  affluent  neighbors. 


XXIV. 

By  force  of  careful  culture  alone, 

Old  BROWN'S  estate  had  rapidly  grown 

A  plum  for  his  only  daughter  ; 
And,  after  all  the  fanciful  dreams 
Of  golden  fountains  and  golden  streams, 
The  sweat  of  patient  labor  seems 

The  true  Pactolian  water. 


And  while  your  theorist  worries  his  mind 
In  hopes  '  the  magical  stone  '  to  find, 

By  some  alchemical  gammon, 
Practical  people,  by  regular  knocks, 
Are  filling  their  *  pockets  full  of  rocks  ' 

From  the  golden  mountain  of  Mammon  I 


With  charms  like  these,  you  may  well  suppose 
Miss  SUSAN  BROWN  had  plenty  of  beaux, 
Breathing  nothing  but  passion ; 


THE   RAPE    OF   THE   LOCK.  49 

And  twenty  sought  her  hand  to  gain, 
And  twenty  sought  her  hand  in  vain, 
Were  'cut/  and  didn't  'come  again,' 
In  the  Ordinary  fashion. 

XXVII. 

Captain  JONES,  by  the  common  voice, 

At  length  was  voted  the  man  of  her  choice, 

And  she  his  favorite  fair ; 
It  was  n't  the  Captain's  manly  face, 
His  native  sense,  nor  foreign  grace, 
That  took  her  heart  from  its  proper  place 
And  put  it  into  a  tenderer  case, 

But  his  beautiful  coal-black  hair  ! 

XXVIII. 

How  it  is,  wliy  it  is,  none  can  tell, 
But  all  philosophers  know  full  well, 

Though  puzzled  about  the  action, 
That  of  all  the  forces  under  the  sun 
You  can  hardly  find  a  stronger  one 

Than  capillary  attraction. 


The  locks  of  canals  are  strong  as  rocks ; 
And  wedlock  is  strong  as  a  banker's  box ; 
And  there  's  strength  in  the  locks  a  Cockney  cocks 
At  innocent  birds,  to  give  himself  knocks ; 
In  the  locks  of  safes,  and  those  safety-locks 
They  call  the  Permutation ; 

3  D 


50  THE   RAPE   OF    THE    LOCK. 

But  of  all  the  locks  that  ever  were  made 
In  Nature's  shops,  or  the  shops  of  trade, 

The  subtlest  combination 
Of  beauty  and  strength  is  found  in  those 
Which  grace  the  heads  of  belles  and  beaux 

In  every  civilized  nation  1 

XXX. 

The  gossips  whispered  it  through  the  town, 
That '  Captain  JONES  loved  SUSAN  BROWN;' 

But,  speaking  with  due  precision, 
The  gossips'  tattle  was  out  of  joint, 
For  the  lady's  '  blunt '  was  the  only  point  - 

That  dazzled  the  lover's  vision'! 


And  the  Captain  begged,  in  his  smoothest  tones, 
Miss  SUSAN  BROWN  to  be  Mistress  JONES, — 
Flesh  of  his  flesh  and  bone  of  his  bones, 

Till  death  the  union  should  sever ; 
For  these  are  the  words  employed,  of  course, 
Though  Death  is  cheated,  sometimes,  by  Divorce, 
A  fact  which  gives  an  equivocal  force 

To  that  beautiful  phrase,  'forever!' 

XXXII. 

And  SUSAN  sighed  the  conventional  '  Nay* 
In  such  a  bewitching,  affirmative  way, 
The  Captain  perceived  't  was  the  feminine  *  Ay/ 
And  sealed  it  in  such  commotion, 


THE   RAPE    OF   THE   LOCK.  51 

That  no  *  lip-service  '  that  ever  was  paid 
To  the  ear  of  a  god,  or  the  cheek  of  a  maid, 
Looked  more  like  real  devotion ! 

XXXIII. 

And  SUSAN'S  Mamma  made  an  elegant  fete 
And  exhibited  all  the  family  plate 

In  honor  of  SUSAN'S  lover ; 
For  now  't  was  settled,  another  trip 
Over  the  sea  in  his  merchant-ship, 

And  his  bachelor-ship  was  over. 


There  was  an  Alderman,  well  to  do, 
Who  was  fond  of  talking  about  vertu, 
And  had,  besides,  the  genuine  gout, 

If  one  might  credit  his  telling ; 
And  the  boast  was  true  beyond  a  doubt 
If  he  had  only  pronounced  it  *  gout,* 

According  to  English  spelling ! 

XXXV. 

A  crockery-merchant  of  great  parade, 
Always  boasting  of  having  made 
His  large  estate  in  the  China  trade  ; 

Several  affluent  tanners ; 
A  lawyer,  whose  most  important  *  case  * 
Was  that  which  kept  his  books  in  place ; 
His  wife,  a  lady  of  matchless  grace, 

ought  her  form,  and  made  her  face, 

Who  plainly  borrowed  her  manners ; 


52  THE   RAPE   OF   THE   LOCK. 

XXXVI 

A  druggist ;  an  undercut  divine ; 

A  banker,  who  'd  got  as  rich  as  a  mine 

*  In  the  cotton  trade  and  sugar  line,' 

Along  the  Atlantic  border ; 
A  doctor,  fumbling  his  golden  seals ; 
And  an  undertaker  close  at  his  heels, 

Quite  in  the  natural  order  1 

XXXVII. 

People  of  rank,  and  people  of  wealth, 
Plethoric  people  in  delicate  health, 
(Who  fast  in  public,  and  feast  by  stealth,) 

And  people  slender  and  hearty, 
Flocked  in  so  fast,  't  was  plain  to  the  eye 
Of  any  observer  standing  by, 
That  party-spirit  was  running  high, 

And  this  was  the  popular  party  1 


To  tell  what  griefs  and  woes  betide 
The  hapless  world,  from  female  pride, 

Were  a  long  and  dismal  story ; 
Alas  for  SUSAN  and  womankind ! 
A  sudden  ambition  seized  her  mind, 

In  the  height  of  her  party-glory. 

XXXIX. 

To  pique  a  group  of  laughing  girls 
Who  stood  admiring  the  Captain's  curls, 
She  formed  the  resolution 


THE   RAPE    OF    THE   LOCK.  53 

To  get  a  lock  of  her  lover's  hair, 
In  the  gaze  of  the  guests  assembled  there, 
By  some  expedient,  foul  or  fair 
Before  the  party's  conclusion. 

XL. 

4  Only  a  lock,  dear  Captain !  —  no  more, 
"  A  lock  for  memory,"  I  implore ! ' 

But  JOXES,  the  gayest  of  quizzers, 
Replied,  as  he  gave  his  eye  a  cock, 
*  'T  is  a  treacherous  memory  needs  a  lock,' 

And  dodged  the  envious  scissors. 

XLI. 

Alas  that  SUSAN  could  n't  refrain, 
In  her  zeal  the  precious  lock  to  gain, 
From  laying  her  hand  on  the  lion's  inane  I 

To  see  the  cruel  mocking, 
And  hear  the  short,  affected  cough, 
The  general  titter,  and  chuckle,  and  scoff, 
When  the  Captain's  Patent  Wig  came  off", 

Was  really  dreadfully  shocking ! 


Of  SUSAN'S  swoon,  the  tale  is  told, 
That  long  before  her  earthly  mould 

Regained  its  ghostly  tenant, 
Her  luckless,  wigless,  loveless  lover 
Was  on  the  sea,  and  '  half-seas-over,' 
Dreaming  that  some  piratical  rover 

Had  carried  away  his  Pennant  I 


A  RHYMED  EPISTLE 


TO  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE  KNICKERBOCKER  MAGAZINE. 

DEAR  KNICK  :  While  myself  and  my  spouse 

Sat  tea-ing  last  evening,  and  chatting, 
And,  mindful  of  conjugal  vows, 

Were  nicely  agreed  in  combating, 
It  chanced  that  myself  and  my  wife, 

('T  was  Madam  occasioned  the  pother  !) 
Falling  suddenly  into  a  strife, 

Came  near  falling  out  with  each  other ! 

In  a  brisk,  miscellaneous  chat, 

Quite  in  tune  with  the  chime  of  the  tea-things, 
We  were  talking  of  this  and  of  that, 

Just  as  each  of  us  happened  to  see  things, 
When  some  how  or  other  it  chanced, 

(I  don't  quite  remember  the  cue,) 
That  as  talking  and  tea-ing  advanced, 

WTe  found  we  were  talking  of  you  1 

I  think  —  but  perhaps  I  am  wrong, 
Such  a  subtle  old  chap  is  Suggestion, 

As  he  forces  each  topic  along 

By  the  trick  of  the  '  previous  question  '  — 


A    RHYMED    EPISTLE.  55 

Some  remarks  on  a  bacchanal  revel 

Suggested  that  horrible  elf 
With  the  hoof  and  the  horns,  —  and  the  Devil, 

Excuse  me,  suggested  yourself  I 

*  Ah !  Knick,  to  be  sure ;  by  the  way,' 

Quoth  Madam,  '  what  sort  of  a  man 
Do  you  take  him  to  be  !  —  nay,  but  stay, 

And  let  me  guess  him  out  if  I  can. 
He  's  young,  and  quite  handsome,  no  doubt ; 

Rather  slender,  and  not  over-tall ; 
And  he  loves  a  snug  little  turn-out, 

And  turns  out  "  quite  a  love  "  at  a  ball  1* 

And  then  she  went  on  to  portray 

Such  a  very  delightful  ideal, 
That  a  sensible  stranger  would  say 

It  really  could  n't  be  real. 

*  And  his  wife,  what  a  lady  must  she  be  ? 

(KxiCK  's  married,  that  I  know,  and  you  know ;) 
You  '11  find  her  a  delicate  Hebe, 
And  not  your  magnificent  Juno ! ' 

Now  I  am  a  man,  you  must  learn, 

Less  famous  for  beauty  than  strength, 
And,  for  aught  I  could  ever  discern, 

Of  rather  superfluous  length. 
In  truth  'tis  but  seldom  one  meets 

Such  a  Titan  in  human  abodes, 
And  when  I  stalk  over  the  streets, 

I  'in  a  perfect  Colossus  of  roads  1 


56  A   RHYMED    EPISTLE. 

So  I  frowned  like  a  tragedy-Roman, 

For  in  painting  the  beautiful  elf 
As  the  form  of  your  lady,  the  woman 

Took  care  to  be  drawing  herself; 
While,  mark  you,  the  picture  she  drew 

So  deused  con  amore  and  free, 
That  fanciful  likeness  of  you, 

Was  by  no  means  a  portrait  of  me  I 

'  How  lucky  for  ladies/  I  hinted, 

4  That  in  our  republican  land 
They  may  prattle,  without  being  stinted, 

Of  matters  they  don't  understand  ; 
I'll  show  you,  dear  Madam,  that  "  KXICK "' 

Is  n't  dapper  nor  daintily  slim, 
But  a  gentleman  decently  thick, 

With  a  manly  extension  of  limb. 

*  And  as  to  his  youth  —  talk  of  flowers 

Blooming  gayly  in  frosty  December ! 
1 11  warrant,  his  juvenile  hours 

Are  things  he  can  scarcely  remember ! 
Here,  Madam,  quite  plain  to  be  seen, 

Is  the  chap  you  would  choose  for  a  lover 
And,  producing  your  own  Magazine, 

I  pointed  elate  to  the  cover  1 

'  You  see,  ma'am,  *t  is  just  as  I  said, 
His  locks  are  as  gray  as  a  rat ; 

Here,  look  at  the  crown  of  his  head, 
'T  is  bald  as  the  crown  of  my  hat  I 


A   RHYMED   EPISTLE.  57 

*  Nay,  my  dear,*  interrupted  my  wife, 

Who  began  to  be  casting  about 
To  get  the  last  word  in  the  strife, 

*  'T  is  his  grandfather's  picture,  no  doubt ! ' 


THE  DOG-DAYS. 

"Hot!  hot !  —  all  piping  hot."—  City  Cries. 

HEAVEN  help  us  all  in  these  terrific  days ! 

The  burning  sun  upon  the  earth  is  pelting 
With  his  directest,  fiercest,  hottest  rays, 

And  everything  is  melting ! 

Fat  men,  infatuate,  fan  the  stagnant  air, 
In  rash  essay  to  cool  thejr...inward  glowing, 

While  with  each  stroke,  in  dolorous  despair, 
They  feel  the  fever  growing  1 

The  lean  and  lathy  find  a  fate  as  hard, 
For,  all  a-dry,  they  burn  like  any  tinder 

Beneath  the  solar  blaze,  till  withered,  charred, 
And  crisped  away  to  cinder! 

E'en  Stojcs  now  are  in  the  melting  mood, 
And  vestal  cheeks  are  most  unseemly  florid ; 

The  very  zone  that  girts  the  frigid  prude 
Is  now  intensely  torrid  1 


THE    DOG-DAYS.  59 

The  dogs  lie  lolling  in  the  deepest  shade  ; 

The  pigs  are  all  a-wallow  in  the  gutters, 
And  not  a  household  creature  —  cat  or  inaid, 

But  querulously  mutters  1 

4  'T  is  dreadful,  dreadful  hot ! '  exclaims  each  one 
Unto  his  sweating,  sweltering,  roasting  neighbor, 

Then  mops  his  brow,  and  sighs,  as  he  had  done 
A  quite  herculean  labor  1 

And  friends  who  pass  each  other  in  the  town 
Say  no  good-morrows  when  they  come  together, 

But  only  mutter,  with  a  dismal  frown, 
4  What  horrid,  horrid  weather  1 ' 

While  prudent  mortals  curb  with  strictest  care 
All  vagrant  curs,  it  seems  the  queerest  puzzle 

The  Dog-star  rages  rabid  through  the  air, 
Without  the  slightest  muzzle  ! 

But  Jove  is  wise  and  equal  in  his  sway, 

Howe'er  it  seems  to  clash  with  human  reason, 

His  fiery  dogs  will  soon  have  had  their  day, 
And  men  shall  have  a  season  ! 


60        ON   A   RECENT   CLASSIC    CONTROVERSY. 


ON  A  RECENT  CLASSIC  CONTROVERSY. 

AN  EPIGRAM. 

NAY,  marvel  not  to  see  these  scholars  fight, 
In  brave  disdain  of  certain  scath  and  scar ; 

'Tis  but  the  genuine  old  Hellenic  spite,  — 

*  When  Greek  meets  Greek,  then  conies  the  tug 
of  war  T 


ANOTHER. 

QUOTH  David  to  Daniel,  *  Why  is  it  these  scholars 
Abuse  one  another  whenever  they  speak  ? ' 

Quoth  Daniel  to  David,  *  It  nat'rally  follers 
Folks  come  to  hard  words  if  they  meddle  with 
Greek  1* 


THE  GHOST-PLAYER. 


A   BALLAD. 

TOM  GOODWIN  was  an  actor-man, 
Old  Drury's  pride  and  boast 

In  all  the  light  and  sprite-ly  parts, 
Especially  the  Ghost. 

Now  Tom  was  very  fond  of  drink, 

Of  almost  every  sort, 
Comparative  and  positive, 

From  porter  up  to  port. 

But  grog,  like  grief,  is  fatal  stuff 

For  any  man  to  sup ; 
For  when  it  fails  to  pull  him  down, 

It 's  sure  to  blow  him  up. 

And  so  it  fared  with  ghostly  Tom, 
Who  day  by  day  was  seen 

A-swelling,  till  (as  lawyers  say) 
He  fairly  lost  his  lean. 


62  THE   GHOST-PLAYER. 

At  length  the  manager  observed 

He  'd  better  leave  his  post, 
And  said,  he  played  the  very  deuse 

Whene'er  he  played  the  Ghost. 

'T  was  only  t'  other  night  he  saw 

A  fellow  swing  his  hat, 
And  heard  him  cry,  « By  all  the  gods ! 

The  Ghost  is  getting  fat  1 ' 

T  would  never  do,  the  case  was  plain ; 

His  eyes  he  could  n't  shut ; 
Ghosts  should  n't  make  the  people  laugh, 

And  Tom  was  quite  a  butt. 

Tom's  actor  friends  said  ne'er  a  word 
To  cheer  his  drooping  heart ; 

Though  more  than  one  was  burning  up 
With  zeal  to  '  take  his  part.' 

Tom  argued  very  plausibly ; 

He  said  he  did  n't  doubt 
That  Hamlet's  father  drank  and  grew, 

In  years,  a  little  stout. 

And  so,  't  was  natural,  he  said, 

And  quite  a  proper  plan, 
To  have  his  spirit  represent 

A  portly  sort  of  man. 

'T  was  all  in  vain  :  the  manager 

Sai$  he  was  not  in  sport, 
And,  like  a  gen'ral,  bade  poor  Tom 

Surrender  up  lusjbrte. 


ON   AN    ILL-READ   LAWYER.  63 

He  'd  do  perhaps  in  heavy  parts, 

Might  answer  for  a  monk, 
Or  porter  to  the  elephant, 

To  carry  round  his  trunk ; 

But  in  the  Ghost  his  day  was  past,  — 

He  'd  never  do  for  that ; 
A  Ghost  might  just  as  well  be  dead 

As  plethoric  and  fat  I 

Alas !  next  day  poor  Tom  was  found 

As  stifF  as  any  post ; 
For  he  had  lost  his  character, 

And  given  up  the  Ghost  J 


ON  AN  ILL-READ  LAWYER. 

AN  EPIGRAM. 

AN  idle  attorney  besought  a  brother 
For  '  something  to  read  —  some  novel  or  other, 
That  was  really  fresh  and  new.' 

*  Take  Chitty ! '  replied  his  legal  friend, 

*  There  is  n't  a  book  that  I  could  lend 

Would  prove  more  "  novel "  to  you ! ' 


A  BENEDICT'S  APPEAL  TO  A  BACHELOR 

"  Double !  double !  "  —  Shakespeare* 
I. 

DEAR  CHARLES,  be  persuaded  to  wed,  — 

For  a  sensible  fellow  like  you, 
It 's  high  time  to  think  of  a  bed, 

And  muffins  and  coffee  for  two ! 
So  have  done  with  your  doubt  and  delaying,  — 

With  a  soul  so  adapted  to  mingle, 
No  wonder  the  neighbor?  are  saying 

Tis  singular  you  should  be  single  ! 

IT. 

Don't  say  that  you  have  n't  got  time,  — 

That  business  demands  your  attention,  — 
There 's  not  the  least  reason  nor  rhyme 

In  the  wisest  excuse  you  can  mention. 
Don't  tell  me  about '  other  fish,'  — 

Your  duty  is  done  when  you  buy  'em,  — 
And  you  never  will  relish  the  dish, 

Unless  you  've  a  woman  to  fry  'em  1 


A  BENEDICT'S  APPEAL  TO  A  BACHELOR.   65 


Don't  listen  to  querulous  stories 

By  desperate  damsels  related, 
Who  sneer  at  connubial  glories, 

Because  they  've  known  couples  mismated. 
Such  people,  if  they  had  their  pleasure, 

Because  silly  bargains  are  made, 
Would  deem  it  a  rational  measure 

To  lay  an  embargo  on  trade  1 


You  may  dream  of  poetical  fame, 

But  your  wishes  may  chance  to  miscarry,  - 
The  best  way  of  sending  one's  name 

To  posterity,  Charles,  is  to  marry  1 
And  here  I  am  willing  to  own, 

After  soberly  thinking  upon  it, 
I  'd  very  much  rather  be  known 

For  a  beautiful  son,  than  a  sonnet  I 


v. 

To  Procrastination  be  deaf,  — 

(A  homily  sent  from  above,)  — 
The  scoundrel 's  not  only  '  the  thief 

Of  time,'  but  of  beauty  and  love  ! 
O  delay  not  one  moment  to  win 

A  prize  that  is  truly  worth  winning,  — 
Celibacy,  Charles,  is  a  sin, 

And  sadly  prolific  of  sinning  ! 

E 


66    A  BENEDICT'S  APPEAL  TO  A  BACHELOR. 

VI. 

Then  pray  bid  your  doubting  good-by, 

And  dismiss  all  fantastic  alarms,  — 
I  '11  be  sworn  you  've  a  girl  in  your  eye 

'T  is  your  duty  to  have  in  your  arms  ! 
Some  trim  little  maiden  of  twenty, 

A  beautiful,  azure-eyed  elf, 
With  virtues  and  graces  in  plenty, 

And  no  failing  but  loving  yourself  I 


Don't  search  for  '  an  angel '  a  minute ; 

For  granting  you  win  in  the  sequel, 
The  deuse,  after  all,  would  be  in  it, 

With  a  union  so  very  unequal 
The  angels,  it  must  be  confessed, 

In  this  world  are  rather  uncommon ; 
And  allow  me,  dear  Charles,  to  suggest 

You  '11  be  better  content  with  a  woman  I 


VIII. 

I  could  furnish  a  bushel  of  reasons 

For  choosing  a  conjugal  mate,  — 
It  agrees  with  all  climates  and  seasons, 

And  gives  you  a  '  double  estate '  1 
To  one's  parents  'tis  (gratefully)  due, — 

Just  think  what  a  terrible  thing 
'T  would  have  been,  sir,  for  me  and  for  you, 

If  ours  had  forgotten  the  ring ! 


A   BENEDICT'S   APPEAL    TO    A   BACHELOR.     67 
IX. 

Then  there  's  the  economy  —-  clear, 

By  poetical  algebra  shown,  — 
If  your  wife  has  a  grief  or  a  fear, 

One  half,  by  the  law,  is  your  own ! 
And  as  to  the  joys  —  by  division, 

They  're  nearly  quadrupled,  'tis  said, 
(Though  I  never  could  see  the  addition 

Quite  plain  in  the  item  of  bread). 


x. 

Remember,  I  do  not  pretend 

There  's  anything  '  perfect '  about  it, 
But  this  I  '11  aver  to  the  end, 

Life 's  very  imperfect  without  it ! 
'T  is  not  that  there 's  '  poetry '  in  it,  — 

As,  doubtless,  there  may  be  to  those 
Endowed  with  a  genius  to  win  it,  — 

But  I  '11  warrant  you  excellent  prose ! 


Then,  Charles,  be  persuaded  to  wed,  — 

For  a  sensible  fellow  like  you, 
It 's  high  time  to  think  of  a  bed, 

And  muffins  and  coffee  for  two ; 
So  have  done  with  your  doubt  and  delaying,  — 

With  a  soul  so  adapted  to  mingle, 
No  wonder  the  neighbors  are  saying 

'T  is  singular  you  should  be  single  ! 


BOYS. 


*  THE  proper  study  of  mankind  is  man,'  — 
The  most  perplexing  one,  no  doubt,  is  woman 
The  subtlest  study  that  the  mind  can  scan, 
Of  all  deep  problems,  heavenly  or  human  ! 

But  of  all  studies  in  the  round  of  learning, 
From  nature's  marvels  down  to  human  toys, 
To  minds  well  fitted  for  aeate  discerning, 
The  very  queerest  one  is  that  of  boys  ! 

-  If  to  ask  questions  that  would  puzzle  Plato, 
And  all  the  schoolmen  of  the  Middle  Age,  — 
If  to  make  precepts  worthy  of  old  Cato, 
Be  deemed  philosophy,  —  your  boy 's  a  sage ! 

If  the  possession  of  a  teeming  fancy, 
(Although,  forsooth,  the  younker  does  n't  know  it, 
Which  he  can  use  in  rarest  necromancy, 
Be  thought  poetical,  your  boy 's  a  poet ! 


WOMAN'S  WILL. 

If  a  strong  will  and  most  courageous  bearing, 
If  to  be  cruel  as  the  Roman  Nero ; 
If  all  that 's  chivalrous,  and  all  that 's  daring, 
Can  make  a  hero,  then  the  boy 's  a  hero  ! 

But  changing  soon  with  his  increasing  stature, 
The  boy  is  lost  in  manhood's  riper  age, 
And  with  him  goes  his  former  triple  nature,  — 
No  longer  Poet,  Hero,  now,  nor  Sage ! 


WOMAN'S  WILL. 

AN   EPIGBAM. 

MEN  dying  make  their  wills,  —  but  wives 

Escape  a  work  so  sad ; 
Why  should  they  make  what  all  their  lives 

The  gentle  dames  have  had  ? 


THE  COLD-WATER  MAN. 


A    BALLAD. 

IT  was  an  honest  fisherman, 
I  knew  him  passing  well,  — 

And  he  lived  by  a  little  pond, 
Within  a  little  dell. 

A  grave  and  quiet  man  was  he, 
Who  loved  his  hook  and  rod,  — 

So  even  ran  his  line  of  life, 
His  neighbors  thought  it  odd. 

For  science  and  for  books,  he  said 

He  never  had  a  wish,  — 
No  school  to  him  was  worth  a  fig, 

Except  a  school  of  fish. 

He  ne'er  aspired  to  rank  or  wealth, 
Nor  cared  about  a  name,  — 

For  though  much  famed  for  fish  was  he, 
He  never  fished  for  fame  ! 


THE    COLD-WATER    MAX.  71 

Let  others  bend  their  necks  at  sight 

Of  Fashion's  gilded  wheels, 
He  ne'er  had  learned  the  art  to  '  bob ' 

For  anything  but  eels ! 

A  cunning  fisherman  was  he, 

His  angles  all  were  right ; 
The  smallest  nibble  at  his  bait 

Was  sure  to  prove  *  a  bite ' ! 

All  day  this  fisherman  would  sit 

Upon  an  ancient  log, 
And  gaze  into  the  water,  like 

Some  sedentary  frog ; 

With  all  the  seeming  innocence, 

And  that  unconscious  look, 
That  other  people  often  wear 

When  they  intend  to  *  hook '  1 

To  charm  the  fish  he  never  spoke,  — 

Although  his  voice  was  fine, 
He  found  the  most  convenient  way 

Was  just  to  drop  a  line  ! 

And  many  a  gudgeon  of  the  pond, 

If  they  could  speak  to-day, 
Would  own,  with  grief,  this  angler  had 

A  mighty  taking  way  1 


THE    COLD-WATER    MAN. 

Alas!  one  day  this  fisherman 

Had  taken  too  much  grog, 
And  being  but  a  landsman,  too, 

He  could  n't  keep  the  log  I 

'T  was  all  in  vain  with  might  and  main 
He  strove  to  reach  the  shore ; 

Down  —  down  he  went,  to  feed  the  fish 
He  'd  baited  oft  before  1 

The  jury  gave  their  verdict  that 

'T  was  nothing  else  but  gin 
Had  caused  the  fisherman  to  be 

So  sadly  taken  in ; 

Though  one  stood  out  upon  a  whim, 
And  said  the  angler's  slaughter, 

To  be  exact  about  the  fact, 
Was,  clearly,  gin-and-wafer  / 


The  moral  of  this  mournful  tale, 
To  all  is  plain  and  clear,  — 

That  drinking  habits  bring  a  man 
Too  often  to  his  bier ; 


And  he  who  scorns  to  *  take  the  pledge, 

And  keep  the  promise  fast, 
May  be,  in  spite  of  fate,  a  stiff 

Cold-water  man  at  last  I 


THE   DAGUERROTYPE.  73 


ON  AN  UGLY  PERSON  SITTING  FOB  A 
DAGUERROTYPE. 

AN  EPIGRAM. 

HERE  Nature  in  her  glass  —  the  wanton  elf — 
Sits  gravely  making  faces  at  herself; 
And,  while  she  scans  each  clumsy  feature  o'er, 
Repeats  the  blunders  that  she  made  before ! 


A  COLLEGE  REMINISCENCE. 


ADDRESSED  TO  THOMAS  B.  THORPE,  ESQ.,  OF 
NEW  ORLEANS. 


DEAR  TOM,  have  you  forgot  the  day 
When,  long  ago,  we  used  to  stray 

Among  the  4  Haddams' '? 
Where,  in  the  mucky  road,  a  man 
(The  road  was  built  on  Adam's  plan, 

And  not  McAdam's !) 

Went  down  —  down  —  down,  one  stormy  night, 
And  disappeared  from  human  sight, 

All  save  his  hat,  — 
Which  raised  in  sober  minds  a  sense 
Of  some  mysterious  Providence 

In  sparing  that  ? 

I  think  't  will  please  you,  Tom,  to  hear 
The  man  who  in  that  night  of  fear 

Went  down  terrestrial, 
Worked  out  a  passage  like  a  miner, 
And,  pricking  through  somewhere  iu  China, 

Came  up  Celestial ! 


A   COLLEGE    REMINISCENCE.  75 

Ah !  those  were  memorable  times, 
And  worth  embalming  in  my  rhymes, 

When,  at  the  summons 
Of  chapel  bell,  we  left  our  sport 
For  lessons  most  uncommon  short, 

Or  shorter  commons ! 

I  mind  me  Tom,  you  often  drew 
Nice  portraits,  and  exceeding  true  — 

To  your  intention ! 
The  most  impracticable  faces 
Discovered  unsuspected  graces, 

By  your  invention. 

On  brainless  heads  the  finest  bumps 
(Erected  by  your  pencil-thumps) 

Were  plainly  seen ; 
Your  Yankees  all  were  very  Greek, 
Unchosen  aunts  grew  '  choice  antique/ 

And  blues  turned  green  1 

The  swarthy  suddenly  were  fair, 
And  yellow  changed  to  auburn  hair 

Or  sunny  flax ; 

And  people  very  thin  and  flat, 
Like  Aldermen,  grew  round  and  fat 

On  canvas-backs  1 

I  well  remember  all  your  art 
To  make  the  best  of  every  part,  — 
I  am  certain  no  man 


76  A   COLLEGE   REMINISCENCE. 

Could  better  coax  a  wrinkle  out, 
Or  elevate  a  lowly  snout, 
Or  snub  a  Roman  I 

Young  gentlemen  with  leaden  eyes 
Stared  wildly  out  on  lowering  skies, 

Quite  Corsair-fashion ; 
And  greenish  orbs  got  very  blue, 
And  linsey-woolsey  maidens  grew 

Almost  Circassian  1 

And  many  an  ancient  maiden  aunt 
As  lean  and  lank  as  John  O'Gaunt, 

Or  even  lanker, 

By  art  transformed  and  newly  drest, 
Could  boast  for  once  as  full  a  chest 

As  —  any  banker  1 

Ah !  we  were  jolly  youngsters  then, 
But  now  we  're  sober-sided  men, 

Half  through  life's  journey ; 
And  you  've  turned  author,  Tom,  I  hear,  — 
And  I —  you  '11  think  it  very  queer  — 

Have  turned  attorney ! 

Heaven  bless  you,  Tom,  in  house  and  heart  1 
(That  we  should  live  so  far  apart 

Is  much  a  pity,) 

And  may  you  multiply  your  name, 
And  have  a  very  *  crescent '  fame, 

Just  like  your  city  1 


FAMILY    QUARRELS.  77 


FAMILY  QUARRELS. 

AN   EPIGRAM. 


*  A  FOOL,'  said  Jeanette,  *  is  a  creature  I  hate  1 ' 
4  But  hating,'  quoth  John, '  is  immoral ; 

Besides,  my  dear  girl,  it 's  a  terrible  fate 
To  be  found  in  a  family  quarrel  1 ' 


SONNET  TO   A   CLAM. 

Dam  tacent  cJamant. 

INGLORIOUS  FRIEND  !  most  confident  I  am 

Thy  life  is  one  of  very  little  ease ; 

Albeit  men  mock  thee  with  their  similes 
And  prate  of  being  '  happy  as  a  clam ' ! 
What  though  thy  shell  protects  thy  fragile  head 

From  the  sharp  bailiffs  of  the  briny  sea  ? 

Thy  valves  are,  sure,  no  safety-valves  to  thee, 
While  rakes  are  free  to  desecrate  thy  bed, 
And  bear  thee  off,  —  as  foemen  take  their  spoil,  — 

Far  from  thy  friends  and  family  to  roam ; 

Forced,  like  a  Hessian,  from  thy  native  home, 
To  meet  destruction  in  a  foreign  broil ! 

Though  thou  art  tender,  yet  thy  humble  bard 

Declares,  O  clam  !  thy  case  is  shocking  hard ! 


A  REASONABLE   PETITION. 

You  say,  dearest  girl,  you  esteem  me, 

And  hint  of  respectful  regard, 
And  I  'm  certain  it  would  n't  beseem  me 

Such  an  excllent  gift  to  discard. 
But  even  the  Graces,  you'll  own, 

Would  lose  half  their  beauty  apart,  — 
And  Esteem,  when  she  stands  all  alone, 

Looks  most  unbecomingly  tart. 
So  grant  me,  dear  girl,  this  petition  :  — 

If  Esteem  e'er  again  should  come  hither, 
Just  to  keep  her  in  cheerful  condition, 

Let  Love  come  in  company  with  her  1 


GUNEOPATHY. 


I  SAW  a  lady  yesterday, 

A  regular  M.  D., 
Who  'd  taken  from  the  Faculty 

Her  medical  degree ; 
And  I  thought,  if  ever  I  was  sick, 

My  doctor  she  should  be ! 

I  pity  the  deluded  man 

Who  foolishly  consults 
Another  man,  in  hopes  to  find 

Such  magical  resul|a» 
As  when  a  pretty  woman  lays 

Her  hand  upon  his  pulse  ! 

I  had  a  strange  disorder  once, 
A  kind  of  chronic  chill, 

That  all  the  doctors  in  the  town, 
With  all  then-  vaunted  skill, 

Could  never  cure,  I  'in  very  s.ure, 
With  powder  nor  with  pill ; 

I  don't  know  what  they  calk-<l  it 
In  their  pompous  terms  of  Art, 


GUXEOPATHY.  81 

Nor  if  they  thought  it  mortal 

In  such  a  vital  part,  — 
I  only  know  't  was  reckoned 

*  Something  icy  round  the  heart ' ! 

A  lady  came,  —  her  presence  brought 

The  blood  into  my  ears ! 
She  took  my  hand  —  and  something  like 

A  fever  now  appears ! 
Great  Galen !  —  I  was  all  aglow, 

Though  I  'd  been  cold  for  years  1 

Perhaps  it  is  n't  every  case 

That 's  fairly  in  her  reach, 
But  should  I  e'er  be  ill  again, 

I  fervently  beseech 
That  I  may  have,  for  life  or  death, 

A  lady  for  my  *  leech '  I 


4* 


A  PHILOSOPHICAL   QUERY. 


TO 


IF  Virtue  be  measured  by  what  we  resist, 

When  against  Inclination  we  strive, 
You  and  I  have  been  proved,  we  may  fairly  insist, 

The  most  virtuous  mortals  alive ! 
Now  Virtue,  we  know,  is  the  brightest  of  pearls, 

But  as  Pleasure  is  hard  of  evasion, 
Should  we  envy,  or  pity,  tlj£ .stoical  churls 

Who  never  have  known  a  temptation  ? 


COMIC  MISERIES. 


i. 

MY  dear  young  friend,  whose  shining  wit 

Sets  all  the  room  ablaze, 
Don't  think  yourself 4  a  happy  dog,' 

For  all  your  merry  ways ; 
But  learn  to  wear  a  sober  phiz, 

Be  stupid,  if  you  can, 
It 's  such  a  very  serious  thing 

To  be  a  funny  man  I 


You  're  at  an  evening  party,  with 

A  group  of  pleasant  folks,  — 
You  venture  quietly  to  crack 

The  least  of  little  jokes : 
A  lady  does  n't  catch  the  point, 

And  begs  you  to  explain,  — 
Alas  for  one  who  drops  a  jest 

And  takes  it  up  again  1 


You  're  talking  deep  philosophy 
With  very  special  force, 


84  COMIC   MISERIES. 

To  edify  a  clergyman 

With  suitable  discourse : 
You  think  you  Ve  got  him,  —  when  he  calls 

A  friend  across  the  way, 
And  begs  you  '11  say  that  funny  thing 

You  said  the  other  day  1 


You  drop  a  pretty  jeu-de-mot 

Into  a  neighbor's  ears, 
Who  likes  to  give  you  credit  for 

The  clever  thing  he  hears, 
And  so  he  hawks  your  jest  about, 

The  old,  authentic  one, 
Just  breaking  off  the  point  of  it, 

And  leaving  out  the  pun  1 


By  sudden  change  in»politics, 

Or  sadder  change  in  Polly, 
You  lose  your  love,  or  loaves,  and  fall 

A  prey  to  melancholy, 
While  everybody  marvels  why 

Your  mirth  is  under  ban,  — 
They  think  your  very  grief  *  a  joke,' 

You  're  such  a  funny  man  1 


You  follow  up  a  stylish  card 
That  bids  you  come  and  dine. 


COMIC    MISERIES.  85 

And  bring  along  your  freshest  wit 

(To  pay  for  musty  wine)  ; 
You  're  looking  very  dismal,  when 

My  lady  bounces  in, 
And  wonders  what  you  're  thinking  of, 

And  why  you  don't  begin  1 

TIf. 

You  're  telling  to  a  knot  of  friends 

A  fancy-tale  of  woes 
That  cloud  your  matrimonial  sky, 

And  banish  all  repose,  — 
A  solemn  lady  overhears 

The  story  of  your  strife, 
And  tells  the  town  the  pleasant  news :  — 

You  quarrel  with  your  wife  ! 

VIII. 

My  dear  young  friend,  whose  shining  wit 

Sets  all  the  room  ablaze, 
Don't  think  yourself '  a  happy  dog/ 

For  all  your  merry  ways ; 
But  learn  to  wear  a  sober  phiz, 

Be  stupid,  if  you  can, 
It 's  such  a  very  serious  thing 

To  be  a  funny  man  1 


THE  OLD  CHAPEL-BELL. 

A   BALLAD.* 

WITHIN  a  churchyard's  sacred  ground, 

Whose  fading  tablets  tell 
Where  they  who  built  the  village  church 

In  solemn  silence  dwell, 
,  Half  hidden  in  the  earth,  there  lies 

An  ancient  Chapel-Bell. 

Broken,  decayed,  and  covered  o'er 
With  mouldering  leaves  and  rust ; 

Its  very  name  and  date  concealed 
Beneath  a  cankering  crust ; 

Forgotten  —  like  its  early  friends, 
Who  sleep  in  neighboring  dust. 


*  This  ballad  is  a  paraphrase  of  a  beautiful  prose  tale  written 
by  Mrs.  ALICE  B.  NEAL,and  published  anonymously,  several  years 
ago,  as  a  translation  '  from  the  German.'  The  story  is  so  exceed- 
ingly Germanesque  in  its  style  and  spirit,  that  the  best  scholars 
in  the  country  did  not  suspect  its  American  origin,  until  the  fact 
was  recently  disclosed  by  the  gifted  authoress. 


THE    OLD    CHAPEL-BELL.  87 

Yet  it  was  once  a  trusty  Bell, 

Of  most  sonorous  lung, 
And  many  a  joyous  wedding-peal, 

And  many  a  knell  had  rung, 
Ere  Time  had  cracked  its  brazen  sides, 

And  broke  its  iron  tongue. 

And  many  a  youthful  heart  had  danced, 

In  merry  Christmas-time, 
To  hear  its  pleasant  roundelay, 

Sung  out  in  ringing  rhyme ; 
And  many  a  worldly  thought  been  checked 

To  list  its  Sabbath  chime. 

A  youth  —  a  bright  and  happy  boy, 

One  sultry  summer's  day, 
Aweary  of  his  bat  and  ball, 

Chanced  hitherward  to  stray, 
To  read  a  little  book  he  had, 

And  rest  him  from  his  play. 

*  A  soft  and  shady  spot  is  this  1 ' 

The  rosy  youngster  cried, 
And  sat  him  down,  beneath  a  tree, 

That  ancient  Bell  beside ; 
(But,  hidden  in  the  tangled  grass, 

The  Bell  he  ne'er  espied.) 

Anon,  a  mist  fell  on  his  book, 
The  letters  seemed  to  stir 


88  THE   OLD    CHAPEL-BELL. 

And  though,  full  oft,  his  flagging  sight 

The  boy  essayed  to  spur, 
The  mazy  page  was  quickly  lost 

Beneath  a  cloudy  blur. 

And  while  he  marvelled  much  at  this, 
And  wondered  how  it  came, 

He  felt  a  languor  creeping  o'er 
His  young  and  weary  frame, 

And  heard  a  voice,  a  gentle  voice, 
That  plainly  spoke  his  name. 

That  gentle  voice  that  named  his  name 
Entranced  him  like  a  spell, 

Upon  his  ear  so  very  near 
And  suddenly  it  fell, 

Yet  soft  and  musical,  as  't  were 
The  whisper  of  a  belL 

*  Since  last  I  spoke,'  the  Voice  began, 
4  Seems  many  a  dreary  year  1 

(Albeit,  't  is  only  since  thy  birth 
I  've  lain  neglected  here  !) 

Pray  list,  while  I  rehearse  a  tale 
Behooves  thee  much  to  hear. 

« Once,  from  yon  ivied  tower,  I  watched 

The  villagers,  around, 
And  gave  to  all  their  joys  and  griefs 

A  sympathetic  sound,  — 
But  most  are  sleeping,  now,  within 

This  consecrated  ground. 


THE    OLD    CHAPEL-BELL.  89 

*  I  used  to  ring  my  merriest  peal 

To  hail  the  blushing  bride  ; 
I  sadly  tolled  for  men  cut  down 

In  strength  and  manly  pride ; 
And  solemnly,  —  not  mournfully,  — 

When  little  children  died. 

4  But,  chief,  my  duty  was  to  bid 

The  villagers  repair, 
On  each  returning  Sabbath  morn 

Unto  the  House  of  Prayer, 
And  in  his  own  appointed  place 

The  Saviour's  mercy  share. 

*  Ah  1  well  I  mind  me  of  a  child,  •     / 

A  gleesome,  happy  maid, 
Who  came,  with  constant  step,  to  church, 

In  comely  garb  arrayed, 
And  knelt  her  down  full  solemnly, 

And  penitently  prayed. 

*  And  oft,  when  church  was  done,  I  marked 

That  little  maiden  near 
This  pleasant  spot,  with  book  in  hand, 

As  you  are  sitting  here,  — 
She  read  the  Story  of  the  Cross, 

And  wept  with  grief  sincere. 

1  Years  rolled  away,  —  and  I  beheld 
The  child  to  woman  grown ; 


90  THE    OLD    CHAPEL-BELL. 

Her  cheek  was  fairer,  and  her  eye 

With  brighter  lustre  shone ; 
But  childhood's  truth  and  innocence 

Were  still  the  maiden's  own. 

*  I  never  rang  a  merrier  peal 

Than  when,  a  joyous  bride, 
She  stood  beneath  the  sacred  porch, 

A  noble  youth  beside, 
And  plighted  him  her  maiden  troth, 

In  maiden  love  and  pride. 

*  I  never  tolled  a  deeper  knell, 

Than  when,  in  after  years, 
They  laid  her  in  the  churchyard  here, 

Where  this  low  mound  appears  — 
(The  very  grave,  my  boy,  that  you 

Are  watering  now  with  tears  !) 

*  It  is  tfiy  mother  !  gentle  boy, 

That  claims  this  tale  of  mine,  — 
Thou  art  a  flower  whose  fatal  birth 

Destroyed  the  parent  vine  I 
A  precious  flower  art  thou,  my  child,  — 

TWO  LIVES   WERE   GIVEN  FOR   THIXE ! 

*  One  was  thy  sainted  mother's,  when 

She  gave  thee  mortal  birth ; 
And  one  thy  Saviour's,  when  in  death 

He  shook  the  solid  earth ; 
Go !  boy,  and  live  as  may  befit 

Thy  life's  exceeding  worth  1 ' 


THE    OLD    CHAPEL-BELL  91 

The  boy  awoke,  as  from  a  dream, 

And,  thoughtful,  looked  around, 
But  nothing  saw,  save  at  his  feet 

His  mother's  lowly  mound, 
And  by  its  side  that  ancient  Bell, 

Half  hidden  in  the  ground ! 


THE  LADY 


A   BALLAD. 


«  SHE  'LL  soon  be  here,  the  Lady  Ann/ 
The  children  cried  in  glee ; 

*  She  always  comes  at  four  o'clock, 

And  now  it 's  striking  three.* 

At  stroke  of  four  the  lady  came, 

A  lady  passing  fair ;  .  . 
And  she  sat  and  gazed  adown  the  road, 

With  a  long  and  eager  stare. 

*  The  mail  1  the  mail !  *  the  idlers  cried, 

At  sight  of  a  coach-and-four ; 

*  The  mail !  the  mail  1 '  and  at  the  word, 

The  coach  was  at  the  door. 

Up  sprang  in  haste  the  Lady  Ann, 
And  marked  with  anxious  eye 

The  travellers,  who,  one  by  one, 
Were  slowly  passing  by. 


THE    LADY   ANN. 

4  Alack !  alack ! '  the  lady  cried, 

*  He  surely  named  to-day ; 
He  '11  come  to-morrow,  then,'  she  sighed, 

And,  turning,  strolled  away. 

*  'T  is  passing  odd,  upon  my  word,' 

The  landlord  now  began ; 

*  A  strange  romance !  —  that  woman,  Sirs, 

Is  called  the  Lady  Ann. 

*  She  dwells  hard  by  upon  the  hill, 

The  widow  of  Sir  John, 
Who  died  abroad,  come  August  next, 
Just  twenty  years  agone. 

« A  hearty  neighbor,  Sirs,  was  he, 

A  bold,  true-hearted  man ; 
And  a  fonder  pair  were  seldom  seen 

Than  he  and  Lady  Ann. 

*  They  scarce  had  been  a  twelvemonth  wed, 

When  —  ill  betide  the  day !  — 
Sir  JOHN  was  called  to  go  in  haste 
Some  hundred  miles  away. 

*  Ne'er  lovers  in  the  fairy  tales 

A  truer  love  could  boast ; 
And  many  were  the  gentle  words 
That  came  and  went  by  post. 


94  THE    LADY   ANN. 

'  A- month  or  more  had  passed  away, 
When  by  the  post  came  down 

The  joyous  news  that  such  a  day 
Sir  John  would  be  in  town. 


*  Full  gleesome  was  the  Lady  Ann 

To  read  the  welcome  word, 
And  promptly  at  the  hour  she  came, 
To  meet  her  wedded  lord. 

*  Alas !  alas !  he  came  not  back  I 

There  only  came  instead 
A  mournful  message  by  the  post, 
That  good  Sir  John  was  dead  ! 

*  One  piercing  shriek,  and  Lady  Ann 

Had  swooned  upon  the  floor : 
Good  Sirs,  it  was  a  fearj&il  grief 
That  gentle  lady  bore  1 

*  We  raised  her  up ;  her  ebbing  life 

Began  again  to  dawn ; 
She  muttered  wildly  to  herself,  — 
'T  was  plain  her  wits  were  gone. 

« A  strange  forgetfulness  came  o  er 
Her  sad,  bewildered  mind. 

And  to  the  grief  that  drove  her  mad 
Her  memory  was  blind ! 


THE   LADY    ANN.  95 

'  Ah !  since  that  hour  she  little  wots 

Full  twenty  years  are  fled ! 
She  little  wots,  poor  Lady  Ann  ! 

Her  wedded  lord  is  dead. 

*  But  each  returning  day  she  deems 

The  day  he  fixed  to  come ; 
And  ever  at  the  wonted  hour 

She  's  here  to  greet  him  home. 

1  And  when  the  coach  is  at  the  door, 

She  marks  with  eager  eye 
The  travellers,  as  one  by  one 

They  're  slowly  passing  by. 

* "  Alack  !  "  she  cries,  in  plaintive  tone, 

"  He  surely  named  to-day ! 
Pie  '11  come  to-morrow,  then,"  she  sighs, 

And,  turning,  strolls  away.' 


GIRLHOOD. 


WITH  rosy  cheeks,  and  merry-dancing  curls, 

And  eyes  of  tender  light, 
O,  very  beautiful  are  little  girls, 

And  goodly  to  the  sight  1 

Here  comes  a  group  to  seek  my  lonely  bower, 

Ere  waning  Autumn  dies :  — 
How  like  the  dew-drops  ojn^a  drooping  flower, 

Are  smiles  from  gentle  eyes  I 

What  beaming  gladness  lights  each  fairy  face 

The  while  the  elves  advance, 
Now  speeding  swiftly  in  a  gleesome  race, 

Now  whirling  in  a  dance  1 

What  heavenly  pleasure  o'er  the  spirit  rolls, 

When  all  the  air  along 
Floats  the  sweet  music  of  untainted  souls, 

In  bright,  unsullied  song  1 


GIRLHOOD.  9  7 

The  sacred  nymphs  that  guard  this  sylvan  ground 

May  sport  unseen  with  these, 
And  joy  to  hear  their  ringing  laugh  resound 

Among  the  clustering  trees ! 

With  rosy  cheeks,  and  merry-dancing  curls, 

And  eyes  of  tender  light, 
O,  very  beautiful  are  little  girls. 

And  goodly  to  the  s 


A    SONNET. 


NAY,  weep  not,  dearest,  though  the  child  be  dead 

He  lives  again  in  Heaven's  unclouded  life, 
With  other  angels  that  have  early  fled 

From  these  dark  scenes  of  sorrow,  sin,  and  strife 
Nay,  weep  not,  dearest,  though  thy  yearning  love 

Would  fondly  keep  for  earth  its  fairest  flowers, 
And  e'en  deny  to  brighter  realms  above 

The  few  that  deck  this  dreary  world  of  ours  : 
Though  much  it  seems  a  wonder  and  a  woe 

That  one  so  loved  should  be  so  early  lost, 
And  hallowed  tears  may  unforbidden  flow 

To  mourn  the  blossom  that  we  cherished  most, 
Yet  all  is  well  ;  GOD'S  good  design  I  see, 
That  where  our  treasure  is,  our  hearts  may  be  1 


MY  BOYHOOD. 


An  me  !  Ihose  joyous  days  are  gone  I 
I  little  dreamt,  till  they  were  flown, 

How  fleeting  were  the  hours ! 
For  lest  he  break  the  pleasing  spell, 
Time  bears  for  youth  a  muffled  bell, 

And  hides  his  face  in  flowers  ! 

Ah  !  well  I  mind  me  of  the  days, 

Still  bright  in  memory's  flattering  rays, 

When  all  was  fan-  and  new  ; 
When  knaves  were  only  found  in  books, 
And  friends  were  known  by  friendly  looks, 

And  love  was  always  true  1 

While  yet  of  sin  I  scarcely  dreamed, 
And  everything  was  what  it  seemed, 

And  all  too  bright  for  choice  ; 
When  fays  were  wont  to  guard  my  sleep, 
And  Crusoe  still  could  make  me  weep, 

And  Santa  Claus,  rejoice  1 

When  Heaven  was  pictured  to  my  thought, 
(In  spite  of  all  my  mother  taught 
Of  happiness  serene,) 


100  MY    BOYHOOD. 

A  theatre  of  boyish  plays,  — 
One  glorious  round  of  holidays, 
Without  a  school  between ! 

Ah  me !  those  joyous  days  are  gone  ; 
I  little  dreamt,  till  they  were  flown, 

How  fleeting  were  the  hours ! 
For,  lest  he  break  the  pleasing  spell, 
Time  bears  for  youth  a  muffled  bell, 

And  hides  his  face  in  flowers  ! 


THE  TIMES. 


A  POEM   READ   BEFORE   THE   BOSTON   MERCANTILE   LI 
BRARY  ASSOCIATION,   NOVEMBER   14,    1849. 


THE  Muses  once,  —  so  sacred  myths  declare,  — 
(See  classic  Keightly,  Cruzer,  or  Lempriere,)  — 
On  cleft  Parnassus  held  a  lofty  seat, 
Where,  in  the  quiet  of  their  calm  retreat, 
With  sweet  accord  they  spent  the  rosy  hours, 
And  wove  bright  garlands  of  perennial  flowers  ; 
Nine  blooming  sisters,  each  with  separate  aim, 
Yet  all  rejoicing  in  the  common  fame, 
Alone  attentive  to  their  high  behests, 
No  jealous  cares  disturbed  their  tender  breasts, 
For  Phoebus,  watchful  of  the  sacred  Nine, 
Warned  off  intruders  with  a  magic  sign  !  — 
You  Ve  seen  the  like  in  Lowell  mills,  where  scores, 
In  gold  or  ochre,  guard  the  inner  doors ; 
A  frequent  sight  in  any  factory  town, 
Where  idle  cit,  or  curious  country  clown, 
Reads,  at  a  glance,  in  letters  large  and  clear, 
The  startling  caution,  —  '  No  admittance  here  ! ' 

What  amorous  bard,  the  hidden  Nine  to  view, 
First  scaled  the  wall,  or  forced  a  passage  through,  — 


102  THE    TIMES. 

What '  gay  Lothario '  found  at  length  a  way 

To  win  the  maids  and  lead  them  all  astray,  — 

Is  yet  unknown  :  —  this  only  can  be  told, 

Some  curst  intruder  broke  Apollo's  fold, 

And  all-remorseless  for  the  grave  abuse, 

In  Phoebus'  spite  let  all  the  Muses  loose ! 

Far  from  their  old  Parnassian  groves  to  roam,  — 

To  grace,  instead,  some  airy  garret-home, 

(Where,  free  from  bailiffs,  poetasters  rhyme, 

And,  thankless,  waste  their  tapers  and  their  time, 

While  through  the  night  they  fondly  toil  for  naught, 

Angling  in  inkstands  for  some  gudgeon-thought). 

Nor  this  the  worst  that  sprang  from  such  a  cause. 

Released  at  once  from  chaste  Diana's  laws, 

All  moral  canons  eager  now  to  waive, 

Save  only  those  that  wanton  Nature  gave. 

The  Nine  are  grown  a  thousand !  —  and  the  Earth 

Hails  every  morning  yet  another  birth ! 

What  hinders  then,  when  every  youth  may  choose. 
As  Fancy  bids,  a  musket  or  a  Muse, 
And  throw  his  lead  among  his  fellow-men, 
From  the  dark  muzzle  of  a  gun  or  pen ; 
When  blooming  school-girls,  who  absurdly  think 
That  naught  but  drapery  can  be  spoiled  with  ink, 
Ply  ceaseless  quills,  that,  true  to  early  use, 
Keep  the  old  habit  of  the  pristine  goose, 
While  each,  a  special  Sappho  in  her  teens, 
Shines  forth  a  goddess  in  the  magazines; 
When  waning  spinsters,  happy  to  rehearse 
Then*  maiden  griefs  in  doubly  grievous  verse, 


THE    TIMES.  103 

Write  doleful  ditties,  or  distressful  strains, 
To  wicked  rivals,  or  unfaithful  swains, 
Or  serenade,  at  night's  bewitching  noon, 
The  mythic  man  whose  home  is  in  the  moon ; 
When  pattern  wives  no  thrifty  arts  possess, 
Save  that  of  weaving  —  fustian  for  the  Press, 
Write  Lyrics,  heedless  of  their  scorching  buns, 
Dress  up  their  Sonnets,  but  neglect  their  sons, 
Make  dainty  doughnuts  from  Parnassian  wheat, 
And  fancy-stockings  for  poetic  feet,  — 
While  husbands  —  those  who  love  their  coffee  hot, 
And  like  no  *  fire  '  that  does  n't  boil  the  pot  — 
Wish  old  Apollo,  just  to  plague  his  life, 
Had,  for  his  own,  a  literary  wife  ! 

What  hinders  then  that  I,  a  sober  elf, 
Who,  like  the  others,  keep  a  Muse  myself, 
Should  venture  here,  as  kind  occasion  lends 
A  fitting  tune  to  please  these  urgent  friends, 
To  waive  at  once  my  modest  Muse's  doubt, 
And,  jockey-like,  to  trot  the  lady  out  V  — 

An  honest  creature,  I  am  bound  to  say, 
Who  does  her  duty  in  a  roguish  way  ; 
A  laughing  jade,  of  not  ungentle  mould, 
Although,  in  sooth,  she  's  something  apt  to  scold, 
And,  like  some  worthy  people  you  have  seen, 
Who  're  always  talking  sharper  than  they  mean, 
A  genuine  Sphinx  as  ever  poet  sung, 
With  much  good-nature  and  a  shrewish  tongue ! 

Yet,  like  your  neighbor,  be  it  understood, 
She  never  censures  but  for  public  good, 
And  like  her,  too,  would  feel  herself  unsexed 
If  voted  angry  when  she  's  only  vexed  I 


104  THE    TIMES. 

Don't  let  me  rouse  unreasonable  fears, 
While  I,  like  Brutus,  ask  you  for  your  ears ; 
Bear  as  you  can  the  transient  twinge  of  pain, 
In  half  an  hour  you  '11  have  them  back  again. 

We  're  a  vast  people  — that 's  beyond  a  doubt — 
And  nothing  loath  to  let  the  secret  out ! 
Vain  were  his  labors  who  should  now  begin 
To  stop  our  growth,  or  fence  the  country  in ! 
Let  the  bold  sceptic  who  denies  our  worth 
Just  hear  it  proved  on  any  '  Glorious  Fourth,' 
When  patriot  tongues  the  thrilling  tale  rehearse 
In  grand  orations,  or  resounding  verse ; 
When  poor  John  Bull  beholds  his  navies  sink 
Before  the  blast,  in  swelling  floods  of  ink, 
And  vents  his  wrath  till  all  around  is  blue, 
To  see  his  armies  yearly  flogged  anew ; 
While  honest  Dutchmen,  round  the  speaker's  stand, 
Forget,  for  once,  their  dearer  father-land, 
And  thrifty  Caledonians  -fefess  the  fate 
That  gives  them  freedom  at  so  cheap  a  rate, 
And  a  clear  right  to  celebrate  the  day, 
And  not  a  baubee  for  the  boon  to  pay ; 
And  Gallia's  children  prudently  relieve 
Their  bursting  bosoms,  with  as  loud  a  '  vive  ' 
For  '  L'Amerique,'  as  when  their  voices  swell 
With  equal  glory  for  *  la  bagatelle  ; ' 
And  ardent  sons  of  Erin's  blessed  Isle 
Grow  patriotic  in  the  Celtic  style, 
And,  all  for  friendship,  bruise  each  other's  eyes, 
As  when  Saint  Patrick  claims  the  sacrifice ; 


THE    TIMES.  105 

Wliile  thronging  Yankees,  all  intent  to  hear, 
As  if  the  speaker  were  an  auctioneer, 
Swell  with  the  theme,  till  every  mother's  son 
Feels  all  his  country's  magnitude  his  own  ! 

You  '11  hear  about  that  sturdy  little  flock 
Who  landed  once  on  Plymouth's  barren  rock, 
Daring  the  dangers  of  the  angry  main, 
For  civil  freedom  and  for  godly  gain  ; 
An  honest,  frugal,  hardy,  dauntless  band, 
Who  sought  a  refuge  in  this  Western  land, 
Where  —  (if  their  own  quaint  language  I  may  use 
That  carried  back  the  first  Colonial  news)  — 
*  Where  all  the  saints  may  worship  as  they  wish, 
And  catch  abundance  of  the  finest  fish  ! ' 

You  '11  hear,  amazed,  the  hardships  they  endured, 
To  what  untold  privations  were  inured,  — 
What  wondrous  feats  of  stout,  herculean  toil, 
Ere  they  subdued  the  savage  and  the  soil, 
And  drave,  at  last,  the  intruding  heathen  out, 
Till  Witches,  Quakers,  all  were  put  to  rout ! 

Here  grant  the  Muse  one  moment  to  explain, 
Lest  you  accuse  her  of  a  mocking  strain. 
I  love  the  Puritan  :  and  from  my  youth 
Wras  taught  to  admire  his  valor  and  his  truth. 
The  veriest  caviller  must  acknowledge  still 
His  honest  purpose,  and  his  manly  will. 
I  own  I  reverence  that  peculiar  race 
Who  valued  steeples  less  than  Christian  grace, 
Preferred  a  hut  where  frost  and  freedom  reigned, 
To  sumptuous  halls  at  freedom's  cost  obtained, 
5* 


106  THE    TIMES. 

And,  proudly  scorning  all  that  royal  knaves, 
For  bartered  conscience,  sold  to  cringing  slaves, 
Gave  up  their  homes  for  rights  respected  more 
Than  all  the  allurements  of  their  native  shore, 
In  stranger  lands  their  tattered  flag  unfurled, 
And  taught  this  doctrine  to  a  startled  world : 
*  Mitres  and  thrones  are  man-created  things,  — 
We  own  no  master,  save  the  King  of  kings ! ' 

'T  is  little  marvel  that  their  honored  name 
Bears,  as  it  must,  some  maculas  of  shame  ; 
'T  is  only  pity  that  they  e'er  forgot 
The  golden  lessons  their  experience  taught ; 
Thought '  Toleration '  due  to '  saints    alone, 
And  '  Rights  of  Conscience '  only  meant  their  own 
Enforcing  laws,  concocted  to  their  need, 
On  all  nonjurors  to  the  ruling  creed, 
Till  Baptists  groaned  beneath  their  iron  heel, 
And  Quakers  quaked  with  unaccustomed  zeal  I 

And  when  I  hear,  as  oft  the  listener  may 
In  song  and  sermon  on  a  festal  day, 
Their  virtues  lauded  to  the  wondering  skies, 
As  none  were  e'er  so  great,  or  good,  or  wise, 
I  straight  bethink  me  of  the  Irish  wit, 
(A  people  famed  for  many  a  ready  hit,) 
Who,  sitting  once,  and  rather  ill  at  ease, 
To  hear,  in  prose,  such  huge  hyperboles, 
Gave  for  a  toast,  to  chide  the  fulsome  tone, 
« Old  Plymouth  Rock,— the  Yankee  Blarney-stone  I 


THE    TIMES.  107 

But  to  resume,  —  as  other  preachers  say, 
Led  by  their  twentieth  episode  astray, 
And  thus  recall  their  pristine  theme  anew, 
Lost  in  the  mazes  of  the  shifting  view, — 
But  to  resume :  these  hardy  pioneers 
Grow,  in  the  flight  of  scarce  a  hundred  years, 
Till,  where  a  few  weak  colonies  were  seen, 
Thrive  in  their  strength  '  the  glorious  Old  Thirteen  ; 
And  these,  anon,  released  from  British  rule, 
Swarm  like  the  pupils  of  a  parish  school ; 
And  still  they  flourish  at  a  wondrous  rate, 
Towns  follow  towns,  and  state  succeeds  to  state, 
Until,  at  last,  among  its  crimson  bars, 
Our  country's  banner,  crowded  full  of  stars, 
O'er  Freedom's  sons  in  happy  triumph  waves', 
Some  twenty  millions,  —  not  to  count  the  slaves  ! 

We  're  fond  of  Missions,  and  rejoice  to  lend 
Our  ready  aid  the  Gospel  light  to  send 
To  chase  the  gloom  that  clouds  the  Pagan's  soul, 
And  haply  make  his  broken  spirit  whole  ; 
To  take  the  wanderer  led  by  sin  astray, 
And  win  his  footsteps  to  the  better  way. 
No  cavilling  voice  at  schemes  like  this  I  raise,  — 
All  this  is  well,  and  to  the  nation's  praise. 
Still  let  the  work  with  growing  force  proceed, 
That  kindly  answers  to  the  Heathen's  need. 
But  O  that  some  brave  proselyte  would  come 
And  preach  good  morals  to  the  folks  at  home  1 
O  that  the  next  Australian  whom  they  get 
Safe  in  the  meshes  of  the  Gospel  net, 


108  THE    TIMES. 

Straight  to  our  country  may  be  kindly  brought, 
With  all  the  Christian  doctrine  he  has  got, 
That  he  may  teach  it,  uncorrupt,  and  clear 
Of  all  perversion,  to  our  Heathen  here  ! 
Accursed  War,  and  deadly  lust  of  Gold, 
These  and  their  horrors  let  his  eyes  behold, 
Now,  —  in  the  moral  summer  of  the  days,  — 
Here,  —  in  the  focus  of  the  Gospel  blaze,  — 
How  would  he  beg  the  doctors  to  explain, 
And  solve  the  puzzle  ere  it  turned  his  brain ! 
And  when  their  best  excuses  he  had  heard, 
How  would  his  breast  with  honest  zeal  be  stirred 
To  teach  our  graduates  in  the  Christian  school 
The  simple  lessons  of  the  Golden  Rule ! 
And  how,  the  while  he  spoke  with  pleasure  true, 
As  one  unfolding  something  good  and  new, 
How  would  the  wings  of  his  amazement  soar 
To  find  their  ears  had  heard  it  all  before ! 

O  murderous  War !  how4ong  shall  History  choose 
Thee  for  the  favorite  topic  of  her  Muse  ? 
As  if  the  real  business  of  mankind, 
The  noblest  purpose  of  the  immortal  mind, 
Were  shown  in  him  who  has  the  greatest  skill 
In  that  old  mystery,  —  the  art  to  kill ! 
And  he  adorned  with  most  heroic  grace, 
Who  deals  the  largest  slaughter  to  the  race ! 

A  neighboring  people  rich  in  landed  spoils, 
But  weak  with  ignorance  and  domestic  broils ; 
A  haughty  nation,  full  of  pride  for  what 
Their  fathers  were,  although  themselves  are  not: 


THE    TIMES,  109 

A  people  fond  of  pageants  and  parade, 
Replete  at  once  with  gas  and  gasconade, 
"With  all  the  vapor  of  the  Spanish  sire, 
Without  a  flicker  of  Castilian  fire, — 
A  race  like  this  —  O  tell  it  not  in  Gath !  — 
Excites  our  avarice  and  provokes  our  wrath, 
.  And  so  we  loose  the  fiendish  dogs  of  war, 
Ajid  ply  our  stripes  to  gain  another  star ! 

Tell  not,  ye  Rabbies  of  the  Whiggish  creed, 
Who  trim  your  doctrines  to  your  party's  need, 
And  let  your  lips  with  fluent  phrases  move 
To  censure  measures  which  your  acts  approve,  -- 
Tell  not,  except  to  credulous  marines, 
How  you  abhor  our  recent  warlike  scenes, 
And  don't  again  repeat  that  precious  joke 
Which  gives  the  odium  all  to  Colonel  Polk, 
For  he  may  find,  who  probes  the  matter  well, 
At  least  a  dozen  Colonels  in  the  shell ! 
Pray  just  review  the  leaders  of  the  bands, 
And,  as  you  pass  them,  let  them  raise  their  hands ; 
Count  well  the  blades  that  glitter  in  the  sun, 
And  mark  their  gallant  bearers,  one  by  one,  — 
For  every  Whig  whose  swprd  your  eye  may  catch, 
You  '11  scarcely  find  a  '  Loco-foco '  match ! 

We  're  all  alike, —  no  thinking  man  defines 
The  people's  temper  by  their  party  lines. 
With  bright  exceptions,  few  and  far  between, 
Like  spots  of  verdure  in  a  winter  scene, 
From  Rio  Grande  to  Penobscot's  flood, 
The  whole  vast  nation  loves  the  smell  of  blood ! 


110  THE   TIMES. 

But  wars  cost  money ;  and  though  fond  of  wars, 
We  worship  Mammon  quite  as  much  as  Mars, 
And  so  consent  the  battle  to  forego, 
And  wait  till  Interest  justifies  the  blow. 
Meantime,  though  Mars  upon  the  shelf  is  laid, 
We  yet  can  summon  Draco  to  our  aid. 
The  cockpit 's  vulgar ;  and  the  pleasant  game 
Of  baiting  bears  is  reckoned  much  the  same ; 

*  The  manly  Ring '  is  held  improper,  too ; 
The  Duel  's  wicked,  and  will  never  do ; 

' T  is  plain  to  see  as  any  comet's  tail, 
That  war 's  immoral  on  so  small  a  scale  ! 
But  Draco  's  grave,  decorous,  and  discreet, 
And  gives  diversions  in  a  mode  so  neat, 

*  The  most  fastidious '  —  in  the  showman  phrase  — 
Can't  be  offended  with  his  bloody  ways. 

For,  like  the  doctors,  though  he  cut  and  bleed, 

He  shows  a  broad  diploma  for  the  deed ! 

As  boys  expend  their  zob'logic  rage 

On  annual  tigers  in  a  traTelling  cage, 

So,  by  the  strictest  pathologic  rule, 

A  monthly  hanging  keeps  the  nation  cool ! 

The  public  right  to  guard  the  common  weal 
From  thief  and  ruffian,  naught  but  maniac  zeal 
Will  e'er  deny,  while  every  worthy  cause 
Bests  in  the  proper  sanction  of  the  laws. 
'Bnt  when  will  men  the  Christian  lesson  learn, 
That  'tis  not  theirs  to  throttle  or  to  burn 
Their  brother  sinner  to  his  mortal  hurt, 
Only  because  they  deem  it  his  desert  ? 


THE    TIMES.  Ill 

If  no  stern  need,  with  loud  imperious  call, 
Demand  the  forfeit,  be  it  great  or  small, 
Let  not  your  heart  usurp  the  sacred  throne 
Of  Him  who  said  that  vengeance  was  his  own  1 
In  meek  submission  drop  the  uplifted  rod, 
And  leave  the  sinner  to  the  sinner's  God 

In  vain  we  boast  the  freedom  Nature  gave  : 
Alas !  the  Ethiop  's  not  the  only  slave  ! 
When  from  their  chains  shall  Saxon  minds  be  freed, 
The  slaves  to  lust,  to  party,  and  to  creed  ? 

Slaves  to  their  Clique,  who  favor  or  oppose, 
As  crafty  leaders  pull  the  party-nose ; 
While  the  '  dear  country/  as  the  reader  learns,8 
Is  saved  or  ruined  in  quadrennial  turns ! 

Slaves  to  the  Mode,  who  pinch  the  aching  waist, 
And  mend  God's  image  to  the  Gallic  taste ; 
Who  sell  their  comfort  for  a  narrow  boot, 
Nor  heed  the  '  corn-laws '  of  the  suffering  foot ! 

Slaves  to  the  ruling  Sentiment,  whose  choice 
Is  but  the  echo  of  the  public  voice, 
While  their  own  thoughts  the  wretches  fear  to  speak,' 
Not  Sundays  only,  but  throughout  the  week ! 

Slaves  to  Antiquity,  who  put  their  trust 
In  mouldy  dogmas,  mummies,  moth,  and  rust ; 
Who  buy  old  nothings  at  the  "highest  cost, 
And  deem  no  art  worth  having  till  it 's  lost ! 

Slaves  to  their  Sect,  who  deem  all  heavenly  light 
Through  one  small  taper  cheers  the  moral  night,  — 


112  THE    TIMES. 

Which,  should  it  fail  to  throw  its  radiant  spark, 
Would  leave  the  hapless  nations  in  the  dark  1 

Slaves  to  Consistency  and  prudent  fears, 
As  if  mistakes  grew  sacred  with  their  years  ! 
Fearful  of  change,  and  much  ashamed  to  show 
They  're  wiser  now  than  twenty  years  ago, 
Because,  forsooth,  't  would  make  the  matter  plain 
They  once  were  wrong,  and  may  be  so  again  1 

Slaves  to  Ambition  and  the  lust  of  fame, 
Who  sell  their  substance  for  a  shadowy  name, 
And  barter  happy  years  for  one  brief  hour 
Of  courtly  dalliance  with  the  harlot,  Power ! 

Bond  slaves  to  Avarice,  who  perversely  soil 
Their  willing  hands  with  hard,  unceasing  toil, 
For  no  reward  except  the  menial  strife, 
As  knaves  turn  tread-mills  in  a  convict  life  ! 

But  lest  the  Muse  should  give  her  hearers  pain 
By  overstraining  her  herbfc  strain,  — 
A  metre  strong  and  well  contrived,  in  sooth, 
To  bear  full  measures  of  satiric  truth, 
But  rather  grave,  and  something  apt  to  tire 
Those  ears  perverse  that  love  an  easy  lyre,  — 
She  '11  drop  the  proud  heroic  for  a  while 
For  a  new  topic  and  a  nimbler  style, 
And,  just  for  change,  endeavor  to  unfold 
The  shining  treasures  of  the  Land  of  Gold  I 


THE    TIMES.  113 


EL    DORADO. 


Hurrah  for  the  land  where  the  moor  and  the  moun- 
tain 

Are  sparkling  with  treasures  no  language  hath  told, 
Where  the  wave  of  the  river  and  spray  of  the  foun- 
tain 

Are  bright  with  the  glitter  of  genuine  gold  ! 
Who  cares  for  the  pleasures  and  duties  of  home, 

And  all  the  refinements  that  grow  in  its  bowers  ? 
To  the  happy  Dorado  away  we  will  roam,  — 

'T  will  be  time  to  '  refine '  when  the  metal  is  ours ! 

n. 

Hurrah  for  the  country  where  Mercury  and  Mam- 
mon 

Are  the  rulers  enthroned  in  the  Capitol-seat ; 
Where  Order  is  chaos,  and  Justice  is  gammon, 

And  yet  there  *s  no  Bacon  to  read  or  to  eat ! 
Let  Famine  stalk  gaunt  and  ungainly  around, 

So  thin  that  his  features  you  scarce  can  behold,  — 
Who  'd  live  upon  bread  at  an  ounce  for  a  pound  ? 

Or  exchange  for  potatoes  his  carats  of  gold  ? 

in. 

Hurrah  for  the  country  where  Ceres  and  Hymen 
Are  driven  abashed  from  the  bountiful  soil, 

And  Music 's  unheard,  save  the  musical  chiming 
Of  pickaxe  and  pan  in  the  clatter  of  toil. 

H 


114  THE    TIMES. 

Who  cares  for  your  dull  academical  lore  ? 

Or  would  seek  for  a  single  philosopher's  stone, 
When  out  of  the  heaps  of  auriferous  ore 

He  can  fill  up  his  pockets  with  '  rocks '  of  his  own  ? 


Hurrah  for  the  country  where  Plutus  is  chief, 

And  where,  for  a  wonder  especially  odd, 
His  worshippers  freely  avow  then-  belief, 

And  are  never  ashamed  to  acknowledge  their 

god! 
Where  the  currency 's  ruled  by  a  natural  law, 

And  Biddies  and  Barings  are  voted  no  thanks, — 
Where,  in  spite  of  the  heavy,  perpetual  draw, 

There 's  always  abundance  of  gold  in  the  Banks  1 


If  a  brother,"  seduced  by  our  precious  estate, 

And  mad  with  the  frenzy  that  lucre  inspires, 
{Should  hit  us,  some  day,  en  the  back  of  the  pate, 

With  a  heartier  thump  than  affection  requires, 
And  our  bodies  be  hid  in  the  glittering  dust,  — 

What  matters  the  incident  ?  why  should  we  care  ? 
To  die  very  rich  is  the  national  lust, 

To  be  4  buried  in  gold '  is  the  popular  prayer  I 


Then  away  with  all  doubting  and  fanciful  ills, 
Away  with  impressions  that  duty  would  print, 

The  Pactolian  drops  that  affection  distils 
Can  never  be  coined  into  drops  of  the  mint ! 


THE    TIMES.  115 

So  hurrah  for  the  land  where  the  moor  and  tin, 

mountain 
Are  sparkling  with  treasures  no  tongue  can  un 

fold, 
Where  the  wave  of  the  river  and  spray  of  the  fouu 

tain 
Are  bright  with  the  glitter  of  genuine  gold  1 


Let  others,  dazzled  by  the  shining  ore, 
Delve  in  the  dirt  to  gather  golden  store. 
Let  others,  patient  of  the  menial  toil 
And  daily  suffering,  seek  the  precious  spoil ; 
While  most  shall  struggle  through  the  weary  years 
With  naught  of  Midas  save  his  ample  ears  ! 
No  hero  I,  in  such  a  cause  to  brave 
Hunger  and  pain,  the  robber  and  the  grave. 
J  '11  work,  instead,  exempt  from  hate  and  harm, 
The  fruitful  *  placers '  of  my  mountain-farm, 
Where  the  bright  ploughshare  opens  richest  veins, 
From  whence  shall  issue  countless  golden  grains, 
Which  in  the  fulness  of  the  year  shall  come, 
In  bounteous  sheaves,  to  bless  my  harvest-home  1 

But,  haply,  good  may  come  of  mining  yet : 
'T  will  help  to  pay  the  nation's  foreign  debt ; 
'T  will  further  liberal  arts ;  plate  rings  and  pins, 
Gild  books  and  coaches,  mirrors,  signs,  and  sins ; 
'T  will  cheapen  pens  and  pencils,  and  perchance 
May  give  us  honest  dealing  for  Finance, 
(That  magic  art,  unknown  to  darker  times 
When  fraud  and  falsehood  were  reputed  crimes, 


116  THE    TIMES. 

Whose  curious  laws  with  nice  precision  teach 

How  whole  estates  are  made  from  parts  of  speech  ; 

How  lying  rags  for  honest  coin  shall  pass, 

And  foreign  gold  be  paid  in  native  brass !) 

'T  will  save,  perhaps,  each  deep-indebted  State 

From  all  temptation  to  '  repudiate,' 

Till  Time  restore  our  precious  credit  lost, 

And  hush  the  wail  of  Peter  Plymley's^host!10 

But  lest,  O  Muse,  thy  weary  friends  complain 
Thou  lov'st  o'ermuch  the  harsh,  satiric  strain, 
Perversely  pleased  with  hateful  themes  alone, 
And  ever  singing  in  a  scolding  tone, 
E'en  change  the  note,  and  dedicate  thy  lays 
For  one  brief  moment  to  discerning  praise. 

While  drones  and  dreaming  optimists  protest, 
4  The  worst  is  well,  and  all  is  for  the  best ; ' 
And  sturdy  croakers  chant  the  counter  song, 
That '  man  grows  worse,  and  everything  is  wrong ; 
Truth,  as  of  old,  still  loves  a  golden  mean, 
And  shuns  extremes  to  walk  erect  between ! 
The  world  improves;  with  slow,  unequal  pace, 
'  The  Good  Time 's  coming '  to  our  hapless  race. 
The  general  tide  beneath  the  refluent  surge 
Rolls  on,  resistless,  to  its  destined  verge ! 
Unfriendly  hills  no  longer  interpose  u 
As  stubborn  walls  to  geographic  foes, 
Nor  envious  streams  run  only  to  divide 
The  hearts  of  brethren  ranged  on  either  side. 
Promethean  Science,  with  untiring  eye 
Searching  the  mysteries  of  the  earth  and  sky  ; 


THE    TIMES.  117 

And  cunning  Art,  with  strong  and  plastic  hand 
To  work  the  marvels  Science  may  command ; 
And  broad-winged  Commerce,  swift  to  carry  o'er 
Earth's  countless  blessings  to  her  farthest  shore,  — 
These,  and  no  German  nor  Genevan  sage, 
These  are  the  great  reformers  of  the  age ! 

See  Art,  exultant  in  her  stately  car, 
On  Nature's  Titans  wage  triumphant  war ! 
While  e'en  the  Lightnings  by  her  wondrous  skill 
Are  tamed  for  heralds  of  her  sovereign  will ! 
Old  Ocean's  breast  a  new  invader  feels, 
And  heaves  in  vain  to  clog  her  iron  wheels  ; 
In  vain  the  Forests  marshal  all  their  force, 
And  Mountains  rise  to  stay  her  onward  course ; 
From  out  her  path  each  bold  opposer  hurled, 
She  throws  her  girdle  round  a  captive  world ! 

I  've  kept  my  promise.     Of  a  prosy  song 
Men  want  but  little,  nor  that  little  long  ; 
Yet  even  dulness  may  afford  relief 
On  some  occasions,  if  it 's  only  brief; 
As  transient  cloudlets  soothe  the  aching  sight, 
Blind  with  the  dazzle  of  untempered  light ! 
'Tis  something  that  my  Pegasus,  though  slow, 
Don't  stand  curvetting  when  he 's  bid  to  go ; 
And,  clear  at  least  of  one  egregious  fault, 
Knows  like  a  Major  when  and  where  to  halt ! 
If  in  his  flight  he  ventured  not  to  soar 
Where  Helios'  son,  too  rashly,  went  before, 
(A  pregnant  hint  for  feeble  bards  who  dare 
The  awful  heights  beyond  their  native  air,) 


118  THE   TIMES. 

T  was  no  dull  spirit  held  the  nag  in  check, 
But  only  mercy  for  his  rider's  neck,  — 
Whom,  were  he  lost  among  the  fogs  that  lie 
Between  the  empyrean  and  the  nether  sky, 
And  headlong  hurled  to  some  Boeotian  deep, 
No  pitying  nymphs  had  gathered  round  to  weep  ! * 


CARMEN  UETUM: 


Recited,  after  dinner,  before  the  Alumni  of  Middlebury  College,  at 
their  Semi-centennial  Celebration,  August  22,  1850. 

A  RIGHT  loving  welcome,  my  true-hearted  Brothers, 
Who  have  come  out  to  visit  the  kindest  of  mothers ; 
You  may  think  as  you  will,  but  there  is  n't  a  doubt 
Alma  Mater  rejoices,  and  knows  you  are  out ! 
Rejoices  to  see  you  in  gratitude  here, 
Returning  to  honor  her  fiftieth  year. 
And  while  the  good  lady  is  so  overcome 
With  maternal  emotion,  she 's  stricken  quite  dumb, 
(A  thing,  I  must  own,  that 's  enough  to  perplex 
A  shallow  observer,  who  thinks  that  the  sex, 
Whatever  may  be  their  internal  revealings, 
Can  never  be  pained  with  unspeakable  feelings,) 
Indulge  me,  dear  Brothers,  nor  think  me  ill-bred, 
If  I  venture  a  moment  to  speak  in  her  stead. 
I,  who,  though  the  humblest  and  homeliest  one, 
Feel  the  natural  pride  of  a  dutiful  son, 
And  esteem  it  to-day  the  profoundest  of  joys, 
That,  not  less  than  yourselves,  I  am  one  of  the  boys  I 

First  as  to  her  health,  which,  I'm  sorry  to  say, 
Has  been  better,  no  doubt,  than  she  finds  it  to-day ; 


120  CARMEN   L.ETUM. 

Yet  when  you  reflect  she's  been  somewhat  neg- 
lected, 

She  's  really  as  well  as  could  well  be  expected ; 
And,  spite  of  ill-treatment  and  premature  fears, 
Is  a  hearty  old  lady,  for  one  of  her  years. 
Indeed,  I  must  tell  you  a  bit  of  a  tale, 
To  show  you  she  's  feeling  remarkably  hale ; 
How  she  turned  up  her  nose,  but  a  short  time  ago, 
At  a  rather  good-looking  importunate  beau, 
And  how  she  refused,  with  a  princess-like  carriage 
*  A  very  respectable  offer  of  marriage.'  * 

You  see,  my  dear  Brothers,  a  neighboring  College, 
Who  values  himself  on  the  depth  of  his  knowledge, 
With  a  prayer  for  her  love,  and  eye  to  her  land 
Walked  up  to  the  lady  and  offered  his  hand. 
For  a  minute  or  so  she  was  all  in  a  flutter, 
And  had  not  a  word  she  could  audibly  utter ; 
For  she  felt  in  her  bosom,  beyond  all  concealing, 
A  kind  of  a  —  sort  of  a — -widow-like  feeling  ! 
But  recovering  soon  from  the  delicate  shock, 
She  held  up  her  head  like  an  old-fashioned  clock, 
And,  with  proper  composure,  went  on  and  defined, 
In  suitable  phrases,  the  state  of  her  mind ; 
Said  she  would  n't  mind  changing  her  single  con- 
dition, 
Could  she  fairly  expect  to  improve  her  position  ; 

*  Allusion  is  had,  in  this  and  subsequent  lines,  to  an  unsuc- 
cessful attempt  to  unite  Middlebury  College  with  the  University 
of  Vermont.  The  affair  is  here  treated  with  the  license  of  a  din- 
ner poem,  and  with  the  partiality  permitted  to  the  occasion. 


CARMEN    L^ETUM.  121 

And  thus,  by  some  words  of  equivocal  scope, 
Gave  her  lover  decided  'permission  to  hope/ 
It  were  idle  to  talk  of  the  billing  and  cooing 
The  amorous  gentleman  used  in  his  wooing ; 
Or  how  she  replied  to  his  pressing  advances, 
His  oscular  touches  and  ocular  glances ;  — 
'T  is  enough  that  his  courtship,  by  all  that  is  known, 
Was  quite  the  old  story,  and  much  like  your  own ! 

Thus  the  matter  went  on,  till  the  lady  found  out, 
One  very  fine  day,  what  the  rogue  was  about,  — 
That  all  that  he  wanted  was  merely  the  power 
By  marital  license  to  pocket  her  dower, 
And  then  to  discard  her  in  sorrow  and  shame, 
Bereaved  of  her  home  and  her  name  and  her  fame. 
In  deep  indignation  she  turned  on  her  heel, 
With  such  withering  scorn  as  a  lady  might  feel 
For  a  knave,  who,  in  stealing  her  miniature  case, 
Should  take  the  gold  setting,  and  leave  her  the  face ! 
But  soon  growing  calm  as  the  breast  of  the  deep, 
When  the  breezes  are  hushed  that  the  waters  may 

sleep, 

She  sat  in  her  chair,  like  a  dignified  elf, 
And  thus,  while  I  listened,  she  talked  to  herself:  — • 
'  Nay,  't  was  idle  to  think  of  so  foolish  a  plan 
As  a  match  with  this  pert  University-man, 
For  I  have  n't  a  chick  but  would  redden  with  shame 
At  the  very  idea  of  my  losing  my  name ; 
And  would  feel  that  no  sorrow  so  heavy  could  come 
To  his  mother,  as  losing  her  excellent  home. 


122  CARMEN    L.ETUM. 

T  is  true  I  am  weak,  but  my  children  are  strong, 
And  won't  see  me  suffer  privation  or  wrong ; 
So,  away  with  the  dream  of  connubial  joys, 
I  '11  stick  to  the  homestead,  and  look  to  the  boys ! ' 

How  joyous,  my  friends,  is  the  cordial  greeting 
Which  gladdens  the  heart  at  a  family  meeting ; 
When  brothers  assemble  at  Friendship's  old  shrine. 
To  look  at  the  present,  and. talk  of '  Lang  Syne '  1 
Ah !  well  I  remember  the  halcyon  years, 
Too  earnest  for  laughter,  too  pleasant  for  tears, 
When  life  was  a  boon  in  yon  classical  court, 
Though  lessons  were  long,  and  though  commons 

were  short ! 

Ah !  well  I  remember  those  excellent  men, 
Professors  and  tutors,  who  reigned  o'er  us  then ; 
Who  guided  our  feet  over  Science's  bogs, 
And  led  us  quite  safe  through  Philosophy's  fogs. 
Ah !  well  I  remember  the  President's  *  face, 
As  he  sat  at  the  lecture  with  dignified  grace, 
And  neatly  unfolded  the  mystical  themes 
Of  various  deep  metaphysical  schemes,  — 
How  he  brightened  the  path  of  his  studious  flock, 
As  he  gave  them  a  key  to  that  wonderful  Locke  ; 
How  he  taught  us  to  feel  it  was  fatal  indeed 
With  too  much  reliance  to  lean  upon  Reid ; 
That  Stewart  was  sounder,  but  wrong  at  the  last, 
From  following  his  master  a  little  too  fast,  — 
Then  closed  the  discourse  in  a  scholarly  tone, 
With  a  clear  and  intelligent  creed  of  his  own. 

*  Joshua  Bates.  D.  D. 


CARMEN    L.ETUM.  123 

That  the  man  had  his  faults  it  were  safe  to  infer,  — 
Though  I  really  don't  recollect  what  they  were,  — 
I  barely  remember  this  one  little  truth, 
When  his  case  was  dbcussed  by  the  critical  youth, 
The  Seniors  and  Freshmen  were  sure  to  divide, 
And  the  former  were  all  on  the  President's  side ! 

And  well  I  remember  another,  whose  praise 
Were  a  suitable  theme  for  more  elegant  lays ; 
But  even  in  numbers  ungainly  and  rough, 
I  must  mention  the  name  of  our  glorious  HOUGH  ! 
Who  does  not  remember  ?  for  who  can  forget, 
Till  Memory's  star  shall  forever  have  set, 
How  he  sat  in  his  place  unaffected  and  bold, 
And  taught  us  more  truths  than  the  lesson  had  told  ? 
Gave  a  lift  to  4  Old  NOL,'  for  the  love  of  the  right, 
And  a  slap  at  the  Stuarts,  with  cordial  spite  ; 
And,  quite  in  the  teeth  of  conventional  rules, 
Hurled  his  adjectives  down  upon  tyrants  and  fools  ? 
But,  chief,  he  excelled  in  his  proper  vocation 
Of  giving  the  classics  a  classic  translation ; 
In  Latin  and  Greek  he  was  almost  oracular, 
And,  what 's  more  to  his  praise,  understood  the  ver- 
nacular. 
O,  't  was  pleasant  to  hear  him  make  English  of 

Greek, 

Till  you  felt  that  no  tongue  was  inherently  weak ; 
While  Horace  in  Latin  seemed  quite  understated, 
And  rejoiced  like  old  Enoch  in  being  translated ! 

And  others  there  were  —  but  the  hour  would  fail, 
To  bring  them  all  up  in  historic  detail ; 


124  CARMEN    L.ETUM. 

And  yet  I  would  give,  ere  the  moment  has  fled, 
A  sigh  for  the  absent,  a  tear  for  the  dead. 
There 's  not  one  of  them  all,  where'er  he  may  rove 
In  the  shadows  of  earth,  or  the  glories  above, 
In  the  home  of  his  birth,  or  in  lands  far  away, 
But  comes  back  to  be  kindly  remembered  to-day  1 

One  little  word  more,  and  my  duty  is  done  ;  — 
A  health  to  our  Mother,  from  each  mother's  son  ! 
Unfading  in  beauty,  increasing  in  strength, 
May  she  flourish  in  health  through  the  century'i 

length ! 
And  next  when  her  children  come  round  her  tx 

boast, 
May  Esto  perpetua  then  be  the  toast ! 


THE  DEVIL   OF  NAMES. 


A   LEGEND. 

AT  an  old-fashioned  inn,  with  a  pendulous  sign, 
Once  graced  with  the  head  of  the  king  of  the  kine, 
But  innocent  now  of  the  slightest  '  design,' 
Save  calling  low  people  to  spurious  wine,  — 
While  the  villagers,  drinking  and  playing  '  all  fours, 
And  cracking  small  jokes,  with  vociferous  roars, 
Were  talking  of  horses,  and  hunting,  and  —  scores 
Of  similar  topics  a  bar-room  adores, 
•But  which  rigid  morality  greatly  deplores, 
Till  as  they  grew  high  in  their  bacchanal  revels, 
They  fell  to  discoursing  of  witches  and  devils,  — 
A  neat  single  rap, 
Just  the  ghost  of  a  tap, 
That  would  scarcely  have  wakened  a  flea  from  his 

nap, 

Not  at  all  in  its  sound  like  your  '  Rochester  Knock- 
ing/ 

(Where  asses  in  herds  are  diurnally  flocking,) 
But  twice  as  mysterious,  and  vastly  more  shocking, 
Was  heard  at  the  door  by  the  people  within, 
Who  stopped  in  a  moment  their  clamorous  din, 


126  THE   DEVIL   OF   NAMES. 

And  ceased  in  a  trice  from  their  jokes  and  their  gin 

When  who  should  appear 

But  an  odd-looking  stranger  somewhat  '  in  the  sere, 
(He  seemed  at  the  least  in  his  sixtieth  year,) 
And  he  limped  in  a  manner  exceedingly  queer, 
Wore  breeches  uncommonly  wide  in  the  rear, 
And  his  nose  was  turned  up  with  a  comical  sneer, 
And  he  had  in  his  eye  a  most  villanous  leer, 
Quite  enough  to  make  any  one  tremble  with  fear  I 

Whence  he  came, 

And  what  was  his  name, 
And  what  his  purpose  in  venturing  out, 
And  whether  his  lameness  was  '  gammon '  or  gout, 
Or  merely  fatigue  from  strolling  about, 
Were  questions  involved  in  a  great  deal  of  doubt,  — « 

When,  taking  a  chair, 

With  a  sociable  air, 

Like  that  which  your '  Uncle '  's  accustomed  to  wear, 
Or  a  broker  determined  to  sell  you  a  share 
In  his  splended  '  New  England  Gold-mining '  affair, 
He  opened  his  mouth  and  went  on  to  declare 
That  he  was  a  devil !  — «  The  devil  you  are ! ' 
Cried  one  of  the  guests  assembled  there, 
With  a  sudden  start,  and  a  frightened  stare  ! 

*  Nay,  don't  be  alarmed,'  the  stranger  exclaims, 

*  At  the  name  of  the  devil,  —  I'm  the  Devil  of  Names  I 

You  '11  wonder  why 

Such  a  devil  as  I, 

Who  ought,  you  would  say,  to  be  devilish  shy, 
Should  venture  in  here  with  never  a  doubt, 
And  let  the  best  of  his  secrets  out ; 


THE   DEVIL   OF   NAMES.  127 

But  mind  you,  my  boys, 

It's  one  of  the  joys 

Of  the  cunningest  woman  and  craftiest  man, 
To  run  as  quickly  as  ever  they  can, 
And  put  a  confidant  under  ban 
Not  to  publish  their  favorite  plan  ! 

And  even  the  de'il 

Will  sometimes  feel 
A  little  of  that  remarkable  zeal, 
And  (when  it 's  safe)  delights  to  tell 
The  very  deepest  arcana  of —  well ;  — 
Besides,  my  favor  this  company  wins, 
For  I  value  next  to  capital  sins 
Those  out-and-outers  who  revel  in  inns  I 

So,  not  to  delay, 

I  'm  going  to  say, 

In  the  very  fullest  and  frankest  way, 
All  about  my  honors  and  claims, 
Projects  and  plans,  and  objects  and  aims, 
And  why  I  'm  called  "  The  Devil  of  Names  1 " 

I  cheat  by  false  graces, 

And  duplicate  faces, 

And  treacherous  praises, 
And  by  hiding  bad  things  under  plausible  phrases* 

I  '11  give  you  a  sample, 

By  way  of  example : 

Here 's  a  bottle  before  me,  will  suit  to  a  T 
For  a  nice  illustration  :  this  liquor,  d'  ye  see, 
Is  the  water  of  death,  though  topers  agree 
To  think  it,  and  drink  it,  as  pure  "  eau  de  vie;" 
I  know  what  it  is,  —  that 's  sufficient  for  me  I 


128  THE    DEVIL    OF    NAMES. 

For  the  blackest  of  sins,  and  crimes,  and  shames, 

I  find  soft  words  and  innocent  names. 

The  Hells  devoted  to  Satan's  games 

I  christen  *•  Saloons  "  and  "  Halls,"  and  then,    ' 

By  another  contrivance  of  mine  again, 

They  're  only  haunted  by  "  sporting  men,"  - 

A  phrase  which  many  a  gamester  begs, 

In  spite  of  the  saw  that  "  eggs  is  eggs," 

To  whiten  his  nigritudinous  legs  1 

*  To  debauchees  I  graciously  grant 
The  favor  to  be  "  a  little  gallant," 
And  soften  vicious  vagrancy  down, 
By  civilly  speaking  of  "  men  about  town  ; " 

There 's  cheating  and  lying 

In  selling  and  buying, 

And  all  sorts  of  frauds  and  dishonest  exactions, 
I  've  brought  to  the  smallest  of  moral  infractions, 
Merely  by  naming  them  "  business  transactions  ! " 
There  's  swindling,  now,~is  vastly  more  fine 
As  "  Banking,  "  —  a  lucky  invention  of  mine, 
Worth  ten  in  the  old  diabolical  line ! 

1  In  lesser  matters  it's  all  the  same, 
I  gain  the  thing  by  yielding  the  name  ; 
It 's  really  quite  the  broadest  of  jokes, 
But,  on  my  honor,  there  's  plenty  of  folks 
So  uncommonly  fond  of  verbal  cloaks, 
They  can't  enjoy  the  dinners  they  eat, 
Court  tlie  "  muse  of  the  twinkling  feet," 
Laugh  or  sing,  or  do  anything  meet 


THE    DKVJL    OF    NAMES.  129 

For  Christian  people,  without  a  cheat 
To  make  their  happiness  quite  complete ! 
The  Boston  saints 
Are  fond  of  these  feints ; 
A  theatre  rouses  the  loudest  complaints, 
Till  it's  thoroughly  purged  from  pestilent  taints, 
By  the  charm  of  a  name  and  a  pious  Te  Deum,  — 
Yet  they  patronize  actors,  and  handsomely  fee  'em  ! 
Keep  (shade  of  "  the  Howards  ! ")  a  gay  "  Athe- 
naeum," 

And  have,  above  all,  a  harmless  "  Museum," 
Where  folks  who  love  plays  may  religiously  see  'em ! 

*  But  leaving  a  trifle  which  cost  me  more  trouble 
By  far  than  the  worth  of  so  flimsy  a  bubble, 
I  come  to  a  matter  which  really  claims 
The  studious  care  of  the  Devil  of  Names. 
There  's  "  Charity  "  now  — ' 

But  the  lecture  was  done, 

Like  old  Goody  Morey's,  when  scarcely  begun ; 
The  devil's  discourse  by  its  serious  teaching 
Had  set  'em  a-snoring,  like  regular  preaching ! 
One  look  of  disdain  on  the  sleepers  he  threw, 
As  in  bitter  contempt  of  the  slumbering  crew, 
And  the  devil  had  vanished  without  more  ado,  — 
A  trick,  I  suspect,  that  he  seldom  plays  you  ! 


PHAETHON; 

OR,   THE   AMATEUR    COACHMiN. 

DAN  PHAETHON  —  so  the  histories  run  — 
Was  a  jolly  young  chap,  and  a  son  of  the  SUN,  — 
Or  rather  of  PHCEBUS  ;   but  as  to  his  mother, 
Genealogists  make  a  deuse  of  a  pother, 
Some  going  for  one,  and  some  for  another ! 
For  myself,  I  must  say,  as  a  careful  explorer, 
This  roaring  young  blade  was  the  son  of  AURORA  ! 

Now  old  Father  PHCEBUS,  ere  railways  begun 

To  elevate  funds  and  depreciate  fun, 

Drove  a  very  fast  coach  by  the  name  of'  THE  SUN  ; 

Running,  they  say, 

Trips  every  day, 

(On  Sundays  and  all,  in  a  heathenish  way,) 
All  lighted  up  with  a  famous  array 
Of  lanterns  that  shone  with  a  brilliant  display, 
And  dashing  along  like  a  gentleman's  « shay,' 
With  never  a  fare,  and  nothing  to  pay ! 
Now  PHAETHON  begged  of  his  doting  old  father 
To  grant  him  a  favor,  and  this  the  rather, 


PHAETHON.  131 

Since  some  one  had  hinted,  the  youth  to  annoy, 
That  he  was  n't  by  any  means  PH<EBUS'S  boy ! 
Intending,  the  rascally  son  of  a  gun, 
To  darken  the  brow  of  the  son  of  the  SUN  ! 

*  By  the  terrible  Styx ! '  said  the  angry  sire, 
While  his  eyes  flashed  volumes  of  fury  and  fire, 

*  To  prove  your  reviler  an  infamous  liar, 

I  swear  I  will  grant  you  whate'er  you  desire  ! ' 
*  Then  by  my  head,' 
The  youngster  said, 

*  I  '11  mount  the  coach  when  the  horses  are  fed !  — 
For  there 's  nothing  I  'd  choose,  as  I  'm  alive, 
Like  a  seat  on  the  box,  and  a  dashing  drive ! ' 

'  Nay,  PHAETHON,  don't,  — 

I  beg  you  won't,  — 

Just  stop  a  moment  and  think  upon 't ! ' 
4  You  're  quite  too  young,'  continued  the  sage, 

*  To  tend  a  coach  at  your  tender  age  ! 

Besides,  you  see, 

Twill  really  be 
Your  first  appearance  on  any  stage  1 

Desist,  my  child, 

The  cattle  are  wild, 

And  when  their  mettle  is  thoroughly  "  riled,** 
Depend  upon  't  the  coach  '11  be  "  spiled,"  — 
They  're  not  the  fellows  to  draw  it  mild ! 

Desist,  I  say, 

You  '11  rue  the  day,  — 
TO  mind  and  don't  be  foolish,  PHA  ! ' 

But  the  youth  was  proud, 

And  swore  aloud, 


132  PHAETHON. 

'T  was  just  the  thing  to  astonish  the  crowd,  — 
He  'd  have  the  horses  and  would  n't  be  cowed  ! 
In  vain  the  boy  was  cautioned  at  large, 
He  called  for  the  chargers,  unheeding  the  charge, 
And  vowed  that  any  young  fellow  of  force 
Could  manage  a  dozen  coursers,  of  course  1 
Now  PHOEBUS  felt  exceedingly  sorry 
He  had  given  his  word  in  such  a  hurry, 
But  having  sworn  by  the  Styx,  no  doubt 
He  was  in  for  it  now,  and  could  n't  back  out. 
So  calling  PHAETHON  up  in  a  trice, 
He  gave  the  youth  a  bit  of  advice  :  — 

* "  Parce  stimulis,  utere  loris  ! " 
(A  "  stage  direction,"  of  which  the  core  is, 
Don't  use  the  whip, —  they  're  ticklish  things,  — 
But,  whatever  you  do,  hold  on  to  the  strings  !) 
Remember  the  rule  of  the  Jehu-tribe  is, 

"  Medio  tutissimus  ibis" 

(As  the  Judge  remarked  to  a  rowdy  Scotchman, 
"VYho  was  going  to  quod  Between  two  watchmen  !) 
So  mind  your  eye,  and  spare  your  goad, 
Be  shy  of  the  stones,  and  keep  in  the  road  ! ' 

Now  PHAETHON,  perched  in  the  coachman's  place, 

Drove  off  the  steeds  at  a  furious  pace, 

Fast  as  coursers  running  a  race, 

Or  bounding  along  in  a  steeple-chase  ! 

Of  whip  and  shout  there  was  no  lack, 

4  Crack  —  whack  — 

Whack — crack,' 
Resounded  along  the  horses'  back !  — 


PIIAETHON1.  133 

Frightened  beneath  the  stinging  lash, 
Cutting  their  flanks  in  many  a  gash, 
On  —  on  they  sped  as  swift  as  a  flash, 
Through  thick  and  thin  away  they  dash, 
(Such  rapid  driving  is  always  rash  !) 
When  all  at  once,  with  a  dreadful  crash, 
The  whole  '  establishment '  went  to  smash ! 

And  PHAETHON,  he, 

As  all  agree, 

Off  the  coach  was  suddenly  hurled, 
Into  a  puddle,  and  out  of  the  world  ! 

MORAL. 

Don't  rashly  take  to  dangerous  courses,  — 
Nor  set  it  down  in  your  table  of  forces, 
That  any  one  man  equals  any  four  horses 

Don't  swear  by  the  Styx !. — 

It's  one  of  OLD  NICK'S 

Diabolical  tricks 

To  get  people  into  a  regular  '  fix/ 
\nd  hold  'em  there  as  fast  as  bricks  I 


PYRAMUS  AND  THISBE. 


THIS  tragical  tale,  which,  they  say,  is  a  true  one, 
Is  old,  but  the  manner  is  wholly  a  new  one. 
One  Ovid,  a  writer  of  some  reputation, 
Has  told  it  before  in  a  tedious  narration  ; 
In  a  style,  to  be  sure,  of  remarkable  fulness, 
But  which  nobody  reads  on  account  of  its  dulness. 

Young  PETER  PYRAMUS  —  I  call  him  Peter, 
Not  for  the  sake  of  the  rhyme  or  metre, 
But  merely  to  make  the  name  completer  — 
For  PETER  lived  in  the  elden  times, 
And  in  one  of  the  worst  of  Pagan  climes 
That  flourish  now  in  classical  fame, 

Long  before 

Either  noble  or  boor 
Had  such  a  thing  as  a  Christian  name  — 
Young  PETER  then  was  a  nice  young  beau 
As  any  young  lady  would  wish  to  know ; 

In  years,  I  ween, 

He  was  rather  green, 
That  is  to  say,  he  was  just  eighteen,  —     . 
A  trifle  too  short,  and  a  shaving  too  lean, 


PYRAMUS    AND    THISBE.  135 

But  *  a  nice  young  man '  as  ever  was  seen, 
And  fit  to  dance  with  a  May-day  queen  1 

Now  PETER  loved  a  beautiful  girl 
As  ever  insnared  the  heart  of  an  earl 
In  the  magical  trap  of  an  auburn  curl,  — 
A  little  Miss  THISBE  who  lived  next  door, 
(They  slept  in  fact  on  the  very  same  floor, 
With  a  wall  between  them,  and  nothing  more,  — 
Those  double  dwellings  were  common  of  yore,) 
And  they  loved  each  other,  the  legends  say, 
In  that  very  beautiful,  bountiful  way, 

That  every  young  maid, 

And  every  young  blade, 
Are  wont  to  do  before  they  grow  staid, 
And  learn  to  love  by  the  laws  of  trade. 
But  alack-a-day  for  the  girl  and  boy, 
A  little  impediment  checked  their  joy, 
And  gave  them,  a  while,  the  deepest  annoy. 
For  some  good  reason,  which  history  cloaks, 
The  match  did  n't  happen  to  please  the  old  folks  1 

So  THISBE'S  father  and  PETER'S  mother 
Began  the  young  couple  to  worry  and  bother, 
And  tried  their  innocent  passions  to  smother 
By  keeping  the  lovers  from  seeing  each  other  1 

But  who  ever  heard 

Of  a  marriage  deterred, 

Or  even  deferred, 
By  any  contrivance  so  very  absurd 
As  scolding  the  boy,  and  caging  his  bird  ?  — 


136  PYRAMUS    AND    THISBE. 

Now  PETER,  who  was  n't  discouraged  at  all 
By  obstacles  such  as  the  timid  appall, 
Contrived  to  discover  a  hole  in  the  wall, 
Which  was  n't  so  thick 
But  removing  a  brick 

Made  a  passage  —  though  rather  provokingl y  small 
Through  this  little  chink  the  lover   could   greet 

her, 

And  secrecy  made  their  courting  the  sweeter, 
While  PETER  kissed  THISBE,  and  THISBE  kissed 

PETER,  — 

For  kisses,  like  folks  with  diminutive  souls, 
Will  manage  to  creep  through  the  smallest  of  holes 

'T  was  here  that  the  lovers,  intent  upon  love, 

Laid  a  nice  little  plot 

To  meet  at  a  spot 
Near  a  mulberry-tree  in  a  neighboring  grove ; 

For  the  plan  was  all  laid, 

By  the  youth  ah'd  the  maid, 
(Whose  hearts,  it  would  seem,  were  uncommonly 

bold  ones,) 

To   run  off  and  get  married  in  spite  of  the  old 
ones. 

In  the  shadows  of  evening,  as  still  as  a  mouse, 
The  beautiful  maiden  slipt  out  of  the  house, 
The  mulberry-tree  impatient  to  find, 
While  PETER,  the  vigilant  matrons  to  blind, 
Strolled  leisurely  out  some  minutes  behind. 


PYRAMUS    AND    THISBE;.  137 

While  waiting  alone  by  the  trysting  tree, 

A  terrible  lion 

As  e'er  you  set  eye  on, 
Came  roaring  along  quite  horrid  to  see, 
And  caused  the  young  maiden  in  terror  to  flee, 
(A  lion 's  a  creature  whose  regular  trade  is 
Blood  —  and  l  a  terrible  thing  among  ladies,') 
And  losing  her  veil  as  she  ran  from  the  wood, 
The  monster  bedabbled  it  over  with  blood. 

Now  PETER  arriving,  and  seeing  the  veil 

All  covered  o'er, 

And  reeking  with  gore, 
Turned  all  of  a  sudden  exceedingly  pale, 
And  sat  himself  down  to  weep  and  to  wail,  — 
For,  soon  as  he  saw  the  garment,  poor  PETER 
Made  up  his  mind  in  very  short  metre,   • 
That  THISBE  was  dead,  and  the  lion  had  eat  her  1 

So  breathing  a  prayer, 

He  determined  to  share 

The  fate  of  his  darling,  *  the  loved  and  the  lost,' 
And  fell  on  his  dagger,  and  gave  up  the  ghost ! 

Now  THISBE  returning,  and  viewing  her  beau, 
Lying  dead  by  the  veil  (which  she  happened  to 

know), 

She  guessed,  in  a  moment,  the  cause  of  his  erring, 
And  seizing  the  knife 
Which  had  taken  his  life, 
In  less  than  a  jiffy  was  dead  as  a  herring ! 


138  PYRAMUS    AND   THISBE. 


Young  gentlemen  !  —  pray  recollect,  if  you  please, 
Not  to  make  assignations  near  mulberry-trees ; 
Should  your  mistress  be  missing,  it  shows  a  weak 

head 
To  be  stabbing  yourself  till  you  know  she  is  dead. 

Young  ladies  !  —  you  should  n't  go  strolling  about 
When  your  anxious  mammas  don't  know  you  are 

out, 

And  remember  that  accidents  often  befall 
From  kissing  young  fellows  through  holes  in  the 

wall! 


POLYPHEMUS  AND  ULYSSES. 


A  VERY  remarkable  history  this  is 
Of  one  POLYPHEMUS  and  MR.  ULYSSES  ; 
The  latter  a  hero  accomplished  and  bold, 
The  former  a  knave  and  a  fright  to  behold,  — 
A  horrid  big  giant  who  lived  in  a  den, 
And  dined  every  day  on  a  couple  of  men, 
Ate  a  woman  for  breakfast,  and  (dreadful  to  see !) 
Had  a  nice  little  baby  served  up  with  his  tea ! 
Indeed,  if  there  's  truth  in  the  sprightly  narration 
Of  HOMER,  a  poet  of  some  reputation, 
Or  VIRGIL,  a  writer  but  little  inferior, 
And  in  some  things,  perhaps,  the  other's  superior, — 
POLYPHEMUS  was  truly  a  terrible  creature, 
In  manners  and  morals,  in  form  and  in  feature ; 
For  law  and  religion  he  cared  not  a  copper, 
And,  in  short,  led  a  life  that  was  very  improper :  — 
What  made  him  a  very  remarkable  guy, 
Like  the  late  MR.  THOMPSON,  he  'd  only  one  eye  ; 
But  that  was  a  whopper,  —  a  terrible  one,  — 
*  As  large  (  VIRGIL  says)  as  the  disk  of  the  sun ! '  — 
A  brilliant,  but  rather  extravagant  figure, 
Which  means,  I  suppose,  that  his  eye  was  much 
bigger 


140  POLYPHEMUS    AND    ULYSSES. 

Than  yours,  —  or  even  the  orb  of  your  sly 
Old  bachelor-friend  who 's  *  a  wife  in  his  eye.' 

ULYSSES,  the  hero  I  mentioned  before, 
Was  shipwrecked,  one  day,  on  the  pestilent  shore 
Where  the  CYCLOPS  resided,  along  with  their  chief, 
POLYPHEMUS,  the  terrible  man-eating  thief, 
Whose  manners  they  copied,  and  laws  they  obeyed, 
While  driving  their  horrible  cannibal  trade. 


With  many  expressions  of  civil  regret 
That  ULYSSES  had  got  so  unpleasantly  wet, 
With  many  expressions  of  pleasure  profound 
That  all  had  escaped  being  thoroughly  drowned, 
The  rascal  declared  he  was  '  fond  of  the  brave,' 
And  invited  the  strangers  all  home  to  his  cave. 

Here  the  cannibal  king,  with  as  little  remorse 
As  an  omnibus  feels  for  tlTe*  death  of  a  horse, 
Seized,  crushed,   and  devoured    a   brace    of  the 

Greeks, 

As  a  Welshman  would  swallow  a  couple  of  leeks, 
Or  a  Frenchman,  supplied  with  his  usual  prog, 
Would  punish  the  hams  of  a  favorite  frog  ! 
Dashed  and  smashed  against  the  stones, 
He  broke  their  bodies  and  cracked  their  bones, 
Minding  no  more  their  moans  and  groans, 
Than  the  grinder  heeds  his  organ's  tones  I 
With  purple  gore  the  pavement  swims, 
While  the  giant  crashes  their  crackling  limbs, 


POLYPHEMUS    AXD    ULYSSES.  141 

And  poor  ULYSSES  trembles  with  fright 

At  the  horrid  sound,  and  the  horrid  sight,  — 

Trembles  lest  the  monster  grim 

Should  make  his  '  nuts  and  raisins  '  of  him  ! 

And,  really,  since 

The  man  was  a  Prince, 

It 's  not  very  odd  that  his  Highness  should  wince, 
(Especially  after  such  very  strong  hints,) 
At  the  cannibal's  manner,  as  rather  more  free 
Than  his  Highness  at  court  was  accustomed  to  see ! 

But  the  crafty  Greek,  to  the  tyrant's  hurt, 
(Though  he  did  n't  deserve  so  fine  a  dessert,) 
Took  a  dozen  of  wine  from  his  leather  trunk, 
And  plied  the  giant  until  he  was  drunk  !  — 
Drunker  than  any  one  you  or  /  know, 
Who  buys  his  '  Rhenish  '  with  ready  rhino,  — 
Exceedingly  drunk,  — '  sepultus  vino  I ' 

Gazing  a  moment  upon  the  sleeper, 
ULYSSES  cried,  '  Let 's  spoil  his  peeper  !  — 
'T  will  put  him,  my  boys,  in  a  pretty  trim, 
If  we  can  manage  to  douse  his  glim  ! ' 
So,  taking  a  spar  that  was  lying  in  sight, 
They  poked  it  into  his  '  forward  light,' 
And  gouged  away  with  furious  spite, 
Ramming  and  jamming  with  all  their  might  I 

In  vain  the  giant  began  to  roar, 
And  even  swore 
That  he  never  before 


142  POLYPHEMUS    AND    ULYSSES. 

Had  met,  in  his  life,  such  a  terrible  bore  : 
They  only  plied  the  auger  the  more 
And  mocked  his  grief  with  the  bantering  cry, 
« Don't  talk  of  pain,  —  it 's  all  in  yow  eye  ! ' 
Until,  alas  for  the  wretched  CYCLOPS  ! 
He  gives  a  groan,  and  out  his  eye  pops  ! 
Leaving  the -knave,  one  need  n't  be  told, 
As  blind  as  a  puppy  of  three  days  old. 

The  rest  of  the  tale  I  can't  tell  now,  — 
Except  that  ULYSSES  got  out  of  the  row, 
With  the  rest  of  his  crew  —  it 's  no  matter  how  ; 
While  old  POLYPHEMUS,  until  he  was  dead,  — 
Which  was  n't  till  many  years  after  't  is  said,  — 
Had  a  grief  in  his  heart  and  a  hole  in  his  head  1 


Don't  use  strong  drink,  —  pray  let  me  advise,  — 
It 's  bad  for  the  stomach,  "and  ruins  the  eyes ; 
Don't  impose  upon  sailors  with  land-lubber  tricks, 
Or  you  '11  catch  it  some  day  like  a  thousand  of 
bricks  1 


ORPHEUS  AND  EURYDICE. 


SIR  ORPHEUS,  whom  the  poets  have  sung 
In  every  metre  and  every  tongue, 
Was,  you  may  remember,  a  famous  musician,  — 
At  least  for  a  youth  in  his  pagan  condition,  — 
For  historians  tell  he  played  on  his  shell 
From  morning  till  night,  so  remarkably  well 
That  his  music  created  a  regular  spell 
On  trees  and  stones  in  forest  and  dell ! 
What  sort  of  an  instrument  his  could  be 
Is  really  more  than  is  known  to  me,  — 
For  none  of  the  books  have  told,  d'  ye  see  ! 
It 's  very  certain  those  heathen  '  swells ' 
Knew  nothing  at  all  of  oyster-shells, 
And  it 's  clear  Sir  Orpheus  never  could  own  a 
Shell  like  those  they  make  in  Cremona ; 
But  whatever  it  was,  to  '  move  the  stones ' 
It  must  have  shelled  out  some  powerful  tones, 
And  entitled  the  player  to  rank  in  my  rhyme 
As  the  very  Vieuxtemps  of  the  very  old  time  I 

But  alas  for  the  joys  of  this  mutable  life  I 
Sir  Orpheus  lost  his  beautiful  wife  — 


144  ORPHEUS    AND    EURYDICE. 

Eurydice  —  who  vanished  one  day 
From  Earth,  in  a  very  unpleasant  way ! 
It  chanced,  as  near  as  I  can  determine, 
Through  one  of  those  vertebrated  vermin 
That  lie  in  the  grass  so  prettily  curled, 
Waiting  to  '  snake  '  you  out  of  the  world  ! 
And  the  poets  tell  she  went  to  —  well  — 
A  place  where  Greeks  and  Romans  dwell 
After  they  burst  their  mortal  shell ; 
A  region  that  in  the  deepest  shade  is, 
And  known  by  the  classical  name  of  Hades,  — 
A  different  place  from  the  terrible  furnace 
Of  Tartarus,  down  below  Avernus. 

Now,  having  a  heart  uncommonly  stout, 
Sir  Orpheus  did  n't  go  whining  about, 
Nor  marry  another,  as  you  would,  no  doubt, 
But  made  up  his  mind  to  fiddle  her  out ! 
But  near  the  gate  he  had  to  wait, 
For  there  in  state  old  Cerberus  sate,  — 
A  three-headed  dog,  as  cruel  as  Fate, 
Guarding  the  entrance  early  and  late ; 
A  beast  so  sagacious,  and  very  voracious. 
So  uncommonly  sharp  and  extremely  rapacious, 
That  it  really  may  be  doubted  whether 
He  'd  have  his  match,  should  a  common  tether 
Unite  three  aldermen's  heads  together ! 

But  Orpheus,  not  in  the  least  afraid, 
Tuned  up  his  shell,  and  quickly  essayed 
What  could  be  done  with  a  serenade. 


ORPHEUS    AND    EURYDICE.  145 

In  short,  so  charming  an  air  he  played, 
He  quite  succeeded  in  overreaching 
The  cunning  cur,  by  musical  teaching, 
And  put  him  to  sleep  as  fast  as  preaching  I 

And  now  our  musical  champion^  Orpheus, 
Having  given  the  janitor  over  to  Morpheus, 
Went  groping  around  among  the  ladies 
Who  throng  the  dismal  halls  of  Hades, 
Calling  aloud 
To  the  shady  crowd, 
In  a  voice  as  shrill  as  a  martial  fife, 
*  <9,  tell  me  where  in  hell  is  my  wife  ! ' 
(A  natural  question,  't  is  very  plain, 
Although  it  may  sound  a  little  profane.) 

*  Eurydice  !  Eu-ryd-i-ce  I ' 
He  cried  as  loud  as  loud  could  be  — 
(A  singular  sound,  and  funny  withal, 
In  a  place  where  nobody  rides  at  all !) 

*  Eurydice  !  —  Eurydice  1 
O,  come,  my  dear,  along  with  me ! ' 
And  then  he  played  so  remarkably  fine, 
That  it  really  might  be  called  divine,  — 

For  who  can  show, 

On  earth  or  below, 

Such  wonderful  feats  in  the  musical  line  ? 

E'en  Tantalus  ceased  from  trying  to  sip 
The  cup  that  flies  from  his  arid  lip ; 
Ixion,  too,  the  magic  could  feel, 
And,  for  a  moment,  blocked  his  wheel ; 
7  j 


146  ORPHEUS    AND    EURYDICE. 

Poor  Sisyphus,  doomed  to  tumble  and  toss 
The  notable  '  stone  that  gathers  no  moss,' 
Let  £o  his  burden,  and  turned  to  hear 
The  charming  sounds  that  ravished  his  ear ; 
And  even  the  Furies  —  those  terrible  shrews 
Whom  no  one  before  could  ever  amuse  — 
Those  strong-bodied  ladies  with  strong-minded  views 
Whom  even  the  devil  would  doubtless  refuse, 
Were  his  majesty  only  permitted  to  choose  — 
Each  felt  for  a  moment  her  nature  desert  her, 
And  wept  like  a  girl  o'er  the  *  Sorrows  of  Werter 

And  still  Sir  Orpheus  chanted  his  song, 
Sweet  and  clear  and  strong  and  long, 

*  Eurydice  1  —  Eurydice  1  * 
He  cried  as  loud  as  loud  could  be ; 
And  Echo,  taking  up  the  word, 
Kept  it  up  till  the  lady  heard, 
And  came  with  joy  to  meet  her  lord. 
And  he  led  her  along  thelhfernal  route, 
Until  he  had  got  her  almost  out, 
When,  suddenly  turning  his  head  about, 
(To  take  a  peep  at  his  wife,  no  doubt,) 

He  gave  a  groan, 

For  the  lady  was  gone, 
And  had  left  him  standing  there  all  alone ! 
For  by  an  oath  the  gods  had  bound 
Sir  Orpheus  not  to  look  around 
Till  he  was  clear  of  the  sacred  ground, 
If  he  'd  have  Eurydice  safe  and  sound, 
For  the  moment  he  did  an  act  so  rash 
His  wife  would  vanish  as  quick  as  a  flash  I 


ORPI1EU8    AND    EURYDICE.  147 


Young  women  !  beware,  for  goodness*  sake, 
Of  every  sort  of '  sarpent  snake  ; ' 
Remember  the  rogue  is  apt  to  deceive, 
And  played  the  deuse  with  grandmother  Eve ! 
Young  men !  it 's  a  critical  thing  to  go 
Exactly  right  with  a  lady  in  tow ; 
But  when  you  are  in  the  proper  track, 
Just  go  ahead,  and  never  look  back  1 


THE   MONET-KING, 

AND 

OTHEK     POEMS. 

1859. 


To  MRS.  GEORGE  P.  MARSH: 

A  Lady  endowed  with  the  best  Gifts  of 
Nature  and  Culture,  and  adorned  with  all  Wo- 
manly Graces,  —  this  volume  is  inscribed  by  her 
Friend, 

THE  AUTHOR. 


PREFACE. 


ABOUT  ten  years  ago,  at  the  instance  of  my 
friend,  James  T.  Fields,  Esq.,  and  with  much 
misgiving,  I  ventured  on  the  publication  of  a  vol- 
ume of  poems.  For  the  favor  it  has  found  with 
the  public,  —  as  evinced  in  a  demand  for  sixteen 
editions  of  the  book,  —  and  with  the  critics,  —  as 
shown  in  many  kind  and  scholarly  reviews,  —  I 
take  this  occasion  to  express  my  grateful  acknowl- 
edgments. Of  the  little  which  I  have  written  since 
the  first  publication  of  that  volume,  the  greater 
part  will  be  found  in  this.  In  the  arrangement  of 
my  materials,  I  have  put  "  The  Money-King "  in 
front,  simply  on  account  of  its  length ;  as,  in  mili- 
tary usage,  the  tallest  soldier  is  commonly  placed 
at  the  head  of  the  file.  For  the  two  episodes  which 
interrupt  the  thread  of  this  otherwise  consecutive 
performance,  I  must  plead  the  authority  of  greater 
names,  ancient  and  modern.  The  poem  entitled 
"  The  Way  of  the  World,"  is  little  more  than  a 
paraphrase  of  a  passage  in  a  prose  story  lately 
published  in  Frazer's  Magazine ;  and  the  plot  of  the 
Chinese  Tale  is  mainly  borrowed  from  an  extreme- 
ly clever  English  book,  entitled  "  The  Porcelain 
Tower."  The  rest  of  the  pieces,  for  aught  I  can 
say,  are  as  original  as  the  verses  of  other  men  who 
have  the  misfortune  to  write  at  this  rather  late 


154  PREFACE. 

period  in  the  history  of  letters ;  but  if  (as  may  pos- 
sibly happen)  any  expressions  which  I  have  sup- 
posed to  be  my  own  should  be  found  in  the  works 
of  earlier  writers,  I  can  only  answer,  with  the 
hearty  indignation  of  old  DON  AT  us :  "  Pereant 
isti  qui  ante  nostra  dixerunt .' " 

3.    G.  S. 


THE  MONEY-KING. 


A    POEM   DELIVERED   BEFORE  THE  PHI  BETA   KAPPA 
SOCIETY  OF   YALE  COLLEGE,   1854. 

As  landsmen,  sitting  in  luxurious  ease, 

Talk  of  the  dangers  of  the  stormy  seas ; 

As  fireside  travellers,  with  portentous  mien, 

Tell  tales  of  countries  they  have  never  seen  ; 

As  parlor-soldiers,  graced  with  fancy-scars, 

Rehearse  their  bravery  in  imagined  wars ; 

As  arrant  dunces  have  been  known  to  sit 

In  grave  discourse  of  wisdom  and  of  wit; 

As  paupers,  gathered  in  congenial  flocks, 

Babble  of  banks,  insurances,  and  stocks ; 

As  each  is  oft'nest  eloquent  of  what 

He  hates  or  covets,  but  possesses  not ;  — 

As  cowards  talk  of  pluck ;  misers,  of  waste ; 

Scoundrels,  of  honor ;  country  clowns,  of  taste ;  — 

I  sing  of  MONEY  1  —  no  ignoble  theme, 

But  loftier  far  than  poetasters  dream, 

Whose  fancies,  soaring  to  their  native  moon, 

Rise  like  a  bubble  or  a  gay  balloon, 

Whose  orb  aspiring  takes  a  heavenward  flight, 

Just  in  proportion  as  it 's  thin  and  light  1 


156  THE   MONEY-KING. 

Kings  must  have  Poets.     From  the  earliest  times, 
Monarchs  have  loved  celebrity  in  rhymes ; 
From  good  King  Robert,  who,  in  Petrarch's  days, 
Taught  to  mankind  the  proper  use  of  bays, 
And,  singling  out  the  prince  of  Sonneteers, 
Twined  wreaths  of  laurel  'round  his  blushing  ears ; 
Down  to  the  Queen,  who,  to  her  chosen  bard, 
In  annual  token  of  her  kind  regard, 
Sends  not  alone  the  old  poetic  greens, 
But,  like  a  woman  and  the  best  of  queens, 
Adds  to  the  leaves,  to  keep  them  fresh  and  fine, 
The  wholesome  moisture  of  a  pipe  of  wine  !  — 
So  may  her  minstrel,  crowned  with  royal  bays, 
Alternate  praise  her  pipe  and  pipe  her  praise ! 
E'en  let  him  chant  his  smooth,  euphonious  lays : 
A  loftier  theme  my  humbler  Muse  essays ; 
A  mightier  monarch  be  it  hers  to  sing, 
And  claim  her  laurel  from  the  Money-King  ! 

Great  was  King  AlfredY  and  if  history  state 
His  actions  truly,  good  as  well  as  great. 
Great  was  the  Norman ;  he  whose  martial  hordes 
Taught  law  and  order  to  the  Saxon  lords, 
With  gentler  thoughts  their  rugged  minds  imbued. 
And  raised  the  nation  whom  he  first  subdued. 
Great  was  King  Bess  !  —  I  see  the  critic  smile, 
As  though  the  Muse  mistook  her  proper  style ; 
But  to  her  purpose  she  will  stoutly  cling, 
The  royal  maid  was  '  every  inch  a  King ' ! 
Great  was  Napoleon,  —  and  I  would  that  fate 
Might  prove  his  namesake-nephew  half  as  great ;   ' 

I 


THE   MONEY-KING.  157 

Meanwhile  this  hint  I  venture  to  advance :  — 
What  France  admires  is  good  enough  for  France  ! 
Great  princes  were  they  all ;  but  greater  far 
Than  English  King,  or  mighty  Russian  Czar, 
Or  Pope  of  Rome,  or  haughty  Queen  of  Spain, 
Baron  of  Germany,  or  Royal  Dane, 
Or  Gallic  Emperor,  or  Persian  Khan, 
Or  any  other  merely  mortal  man, 
Is  the  great  monarch  that  my  Muse  would  sing, 
That  mighty  potentate,  the  Money-King ! 
His  kingdom  vast  extends  o'er  every  land, 
And  nations  bow  before  his  high  command ; 
The  weakest  tremble,  and  his  power  obey, 
The  strongest  honor,  and  confess  his  sway. 
He  rules  the  Rulers  1  —  e'en  the  tyrant  Czar 
Asks  his  permission  ere  he  goes  to  war ; 
The  Turk,  submissive  to  his  royal  might, 
By  his  consent  has  gracious  leave  to  fight ; 
Whilst  e'en  Britannia  makes  her  humblest  bow 
Before  her  Barings,  not  her  Barons  now, 
Or  on  the  Rothschild  suppliantly  calls, 
(Her  affluent '  uncle '  with  the  golden  balls,) 
Begs  of  the  Jew  that  he  will  kindly  spare 
Enough  to  put  her  trident  in  repair, 
And  pawns  her  diamonds,  while  she  humbly  craves 
Leave  of  the  Money-King  once  more  to  '  rule  the 
waves ' ! 

He  wears  no  crown  upon  his  royal  head, 
iBut  many  millions  in  his  purse,  instead; 
He  keeps  no  halls  of  state ;  but  holds  his  court 
In  dingy  rooms  where  greed  and  thrift  resort ; 


1  ~  >  THE    MONEY-KING. 

In  iron  chests  his  wondrous  wealth  he  hoards ; 
Banks  are  his  parlors ;  brokers  are  his  lords, 
Bonds,  bills,  and  mortgages,  his  favorite  books, 
Gold  is  his  food,  and  coiners  are  his  cooks ; 
Ledgers  his  records ;  stock-reports  his  news ; 
Merchants  his  yeomen,  and  his  bondsmen  Jews ; 
Kings  are  his  subjects,  gamblers  are  his  knaves, 
Spendthrifts  his  fools,  and  misers  are  his  slaves  1 
The  good,  the  bad,  his  golden  favor  prize, 
The  high,  the  low,  the  simple,  and  the  wise, 
The  young,  the  old,  the  stately,  and  the  gay,  — 
All  bow  obedient  to  his  royal  sway  1 

See  where,  afar,  the  bright  Pacific  shore 
Gleams  in  the  sun  with  sands  of  shining  ore, 
His  last,  great  empire  rises  to  the  view, 
And  shames  the  wealth  of  India  and  Peru ! 
Here,  throned  within  his  gorgeous  "  golden  gate," 
He  wields  his  sceptre  o'er  the  rising  State  ; 
Surveys  his  conquest  with  a  joyful  eye, 
Nor  for  a  greater  heaves  a  single  sigh  1 
Here,  quite  beyond  the  classic  poet's  dream, 
Pactolus  runs  in  every  winding  stream ; 
The  mountain  cliffs  the  glittering  ore  enfold, 
And  every  reed  that  rustles  whispers,  *  gold  1 ' 

If  to  his  sceptre  some  dishonor  clings, 
Why  should  we  marvel  ?  —  't  is  the  fate  of  Kings ! 
Their  power  too  oft  perverted  by  abuse, 
Their  manners  cruel,  or  their  morals  loose, 
The  best  at  times  have  wandered  far  astray 
From  simple  Virtue's  unseductive  way  ; 


THE    MONEY-KING}.  159 

And  few,  of  all,  at  once  could  make  pretence 
To  royal  robes  and  rustic  innocence ! 

He  builds  the  house  where  Christian  people  pray, 

And  rears  a  bagnio  just  across  the  way ; 

Pays  to  the  priest  his  stinted  annual  fee ; 

Rewards  the  lawyer  for  his  venal  plea  ; 

Sends  an  apostle  to  the  heathen's  aid ; 

And  cheats  the  Choctaws,  for  the  good  of  trade  ; 

Lifts  by  her  heels  an  Ellsler  to  renown, 

Or,  bribing  '  Jenny,'  brings  an  angel  down  ! 

He  builds  the  Theatres,  and  gambling  Halls, 
Lloyds  and  A 1  macks,  St.  Peter's  and  St.  Paul's ; 
Sin's  gay  retreats,  and  Fashion's  gilded  rooms, 
Hotels  and  Factories,  Palaces  and  Tombs ; 
Bids  Commerce  spread  her  wings  to  every  gale ; 
Bends  to  the  breeze  the  pirate's  bloody  sail ; 
Helps  Science  seek  new  worlds  among  the  stars ; 
Profanes  our  own  with  mercenary  wars ; 
The  friend  of  wrong,  the  equal  friend  of  right, 
Oft  may  we  bless  and  oft  deplore  his  might, 
As  buoyant  hope  or  darkening  fears  prevail, 
And  good  or  evil  turns  the  moral  scale. 

All  fitting  honor  I  would  fain  accord, 
Whene'er  he  builds  a  temple  to  the  Lord ; 
But  much  I  grieve  he  often  spends  his  pelf, 
As  it  were  raised  in  honor  of  himself; 
Or,  what  were  worse,  and  more  profanely  odd, 
A  place  to  worship  some  Egyptian  god  ! 
I  wish  his  favorite  architects  were  graced 
With  sounder  judgment,  and  a  Christian  taste. 


160  THE   MONEY-KING. 

Immortal  Wren  !  what  fierce,  convulsive  shocks 
Would  jar  thy  bones  within  their  leaden  box, 
Couldst  thou  but  look  across  the  briny  spray, 
And  see  some  churches  of  the  present  day  !  — • 
The  lofty  dome  of  consecrated  bricks, 
Where  all  the  4  orders '  in  disorder  mix, 
To  form  a  temple  whose  incongruous  frame 
Confounds  design  and  puts  the  Arts  to  shame  I 
Where  4  styles '  discordant  on  the  vision  jar, 
Where  Greek  and  Roman  are  again  at  war, 
And,  as  of  old,  the  unrelenting  Goth 
Comes  down  at  last  and  overwhelms  them  both  I 

Once  on  a  time  I  heard  a  parson  say, 
(Talking  of  churches  in  a  sprightly  way,) 
That  there  was  more  Religion  in  the  walls 
Of  towering  '  Trinity,*  or  grand  '  St.  Paul's,' 
Than  one  could  find,  upon  the  strictest  search, 
In  half  the  saints  within  the  Christian  Church  1 
A  layman  sitting  at  the  parson's  side 
To  this  new  dogma  thus  at  once  replied :  — 
*  If,  as  you  say,  Religion  has  her  home 
In  the  mere  walls  that  form  the  sacred  dome, 
It  seems  to  me  the  very  plainest  case, 
To  climb  the  steeple  were  a  growth  in  grace ; 
And  he  to  whom  the  pious  strength  were  given 
To  reach  the  highest  were  the  nearest  Heaven  I 
I  thought  the  answer  just ;  and  yet 't  is  clear 
A  solemn  aspect,  grand  and  yet  severe, 
Becomes  the  house  of  God.     'T  is  hard  to  say 
Who  from  the  proper  mark  are  most  astray,  — 


THE    MONEY-KING.  161 

They  who  erect,  for  holy  Christian  rites, 
A  gay  Pagoda  with  its  tinsel  lights, 
Or  they  who  offer  to  the  God  of  Love 
A  gorgeous  Temple  of  the  pagan  Jove  I 

Immortal  Homer  and  Tassoni  sing 

What  vast  results  from  trivial  causes  spring ; 

How  naughty  Helen  by  her  stolen  joy 

Brought  woe  and  ruin  to  unhappy  Troy ; 

How,  for  a  bucket,  rash  Bologna;  sold 

More  blood  and  tears  than  twenty  such  could  hold 

Thy  power,  O  Money,  shows  results  as  strange 

As  aught  revealed  in  History's  widest  range ; 

Thy  smallest  coin  of  shining  silver  shows 

More  potent  magic  than  a  conjurer  knows  I 

In  olden  times,  —  if  classic  poets  say 
The  simple  truth,  as  poets  do  to-day,  — 
When  Charon's  boat  conveyed  a  spirit  o'er 
The  Lethean  water  to  the  Hadean  shore, 
The  fare  was  just  a  penny,  —  not  too  great, 
The  moderate,  regular,  Stygian  statute  rate. 
Now,  for  a  shilling,  he  will  cross  the  stream, 
(His  paddles  whirling  to  the  force  of  steam  !) 
And  bring,  obedient  to  some  wizard  power, 
Back  to  the  Earth  more  spirits  in  an  hour, 
Than  Brooklyn's  famous  ferry  could  convey, 
Or  thine,  Hoboken,  in  the  longest  day  ! 
Time  was  when  men  bereaved  of  vital  breath 
Were  calm  and  silent  in  the  realms  of  Death ; 
When  mortals  dead  and  decently  inurned 
Were  heard  no  more ;  no  traveller  returned. 

K 


1G2  THE    MONEY-KING. 

Who  once  had  crossed  the  dark  Plutonian  strand, 
To  whisper  secrets  of  the  spirit-land  — 
Save  when  perchance  some  sad,  unquiet  soul 
Among  the  tombs  might  wander  on  parole,  — 
A  well-bred  ghost,  at  night's  bewitching  noon, 
Returned  to  catch  some  glimpses  of  the  moon, 
Wrapt  in  a  mantle  of  unearthly  white, 
(The  only  'rapping  of  an  ancient  sprite  !) 
Stalked  round  in  silence  till  the  break  of  day, 
Then  from  the  Earth  passed  unperceived  away  I 

Now  all  is  changed :  the  musty  maxim  fails, 
And  dead  men  do  repeat  the  queerest  tales ! 
Alas,  that  here,  as  in  the  books,  we  see 
The  travellers  clash,  the  doctors  disagree  ! 
Alas,  that  all,  the  further  they  explore, 
For  all  their  search  are  but  confused  the  more ! 

Ye  great  departed !  —  men  of  mighty  mark  — 
Bacon  and  Newton,  Adams,  Adam  Clarke, 
Edwards  and  Whitefield,  Franklin,  Robert  Hall, 
Calhoun,  Clay,  Channing^  Daniel  Webster  —  all 
Ye  great  quit-tenants  of  this  earthly  ball,  — 
If  in  your  new  abodes  ye  cannot  rest, 
But  must  return,  O,  grant  us  this  request : 
Come  with  a  noble  and  celestial  air, 
To  prove  your  title  to  the  names  ye  bear ; 
Give  some  clear  token  of  your  heavenly  birth ; 
Write  as  good  English  as  ye  wrote  on  Earth ! 
Show  not  to  all,  in  ranting  prose  and  verse, 
The  spirit's  progress  is  from  bad  to  worse  ; 
And,  what  were  once  superfluous  to  advise, 
Don't  tell,  I  beg  you,  such  egregious  lies  !  — 


THE    MONEY-KING.  163 

Or  if  perchance  your  agents  are  to  blame, 
Don't  let  them  trifle  with  your  honest  fame  ; 
Let  chairs  and  tables  rest,  and  4  rap  '  instead, 
Ay, '  knock '  your  slippery '  Mediums '  on  the  head ! 

What  direful  woes  the  hapless  man  attend, 
Who  in  the  means  see  life's  supremest  end  ; 
The  wretched  miser,  —  money's  sordid  slave,  — 
His  only  joy  to  gather  and  to  save. 
For  this  he  wakes  at  morning's  early  light, 
Toils  through  the  day,  and  ponders  in  the  night ; 
For  this,  —  to  swell  his  heap  of  tarnished  gold,  — 
Sweats  in  the  sun,  and  shivers  in  the  cold, 
And  suffers  more  from  hunger  every  day 
Than  the  starved  beggar  whom  he  spurns  away. 
Death  comes  erewhile  to  end  his  worldly  strife  ; 
With  all  his  saving  he  must  lose  his  life  ! 
Perchance  the  Doctor  might  protract  his  breath, 
And  stay  the  dreadful  messenger  of  death ; 
But  none  is  there  to  comfort  or  advise  ; 
'T  would  cost  a  dollar !  —  so  the  miser  dies. 

Sad  is  the  sight  when  Money's  power  controls 
In  wedlock's  chains  the  fate  of  human  souls. 
From  mine  to  mint,  curst  is  the  coin  that  parts 
In  helpless  grief  two  loving  human  hearts ; 
Or  joins  in  discord,  jealousy,  and  hate, 
A  sordid  suitor  to  a  loathing  mate ! 

I  waive  the  case,  the  barren  case,  of  those 
Who  have  no  hearts  to  cherish  or  to  lose  ; 
Whose  wedded  state  is  but  a  bargain  made 
In  due  accordance  with  the  laws  r>f  trade  : 


1G4  THE    MONEY-KING. 

When  the  prim  parson  joins  their  willing  hands, 

To  marry  City  lots  to  Western  lands, 

Or  in  connubial  ecstasy  to  mix 

Cash  and  '  collateral,'  ten-per-cents  with  six, 

And  in  soft  dalliance  securely  locks 

Impassioned  dollars  with  enamored  stocks, 

Laugh  if  you  will,  —  and  who  can  well  refrain  ?  — 

But  waste  no  tears,  nor  pangs  of  pitying  pain  ; 

Hearts  such  as  these  may  play  the  queerest  pranks, 

But  never  break  —  except  with  breaking  banks  1 

Yet,  let  me  hint,  a  thousand  maxims  prove 
Plutus  may  be  the  truest  friend  to  Love. 
4  Love  in  a  cottage*  cosily  may  dwell, 
But  much  prefers  to  have  it  furnished  well ! 
A  parlor  ample,  and  a  kitchen  snug, 
A  handsome  carpet,  an  embroidered  rug, 
A  well-stored  pantry,  and  a  tidy  maid, 
A  blazing  hearth,  a  cooling  window-shade, 
Though  merely  mortal,  money-purchased  things, 
Have    wondrous    power    to    clip    Love's    errant 
wings ! 

*  Love  in  a  cottage,'  is  n't  just  the  same, 
When  wind  and  water  strive  to  quench  his  flame  ; 
Too  oft  it  breeds  the  sharpest  "discontent, 
That  puzzling  question,  '  how  to  pay  the  rent ; ' 
A  smoky  chimney  may  alone  suffice 
To  dim  the  radiance  of  the  fondest  eyes  ; 
A  northern  blast,  beyond  the  slightest  doubt, 
May  fairly  blow  the  torch  of  Hymen  out ; 
And  I  have  heard  a  worthy  matron  hold, 
(As  one  who  knew  the  truth  of  what  she  told,) 


THE    MONEY-KING.  165 

Love  once  was  drowned,  though  reckoned  water- 
proof, , 
By  the  mere  dripping  of  a  leaky  roof! 

Full  many  a  wise  philosopher  has  tried 

Mankind  in  fitting  orders  to  divide ; 

And  by  their  forms,  their  fashions,  and  their  face, 

To  group,  assort,  and  classify  the  race. 

One  would  distinguish  people  by  their  books ;  , 

Another,  quaintly,  solely  by  their  cooks  ; 

And  one,  who  graced  the  philosophic  bench, 

Found  these  three  classes,  — '  women,  men,  and 

French  ! ' 

The  best  remains,  of  all  that  I  have  known, 
A  broad  distinction,  brilliant,  and  my  own,  — 
Of  all  mankind,  I  classify  the  lot :  — 
Those  who  have  Money,  and  those  who  have  not  I 

Think'st  thou  the  line  a  poef  s  fiction  ?  —  then 
Go  look  abroad  upon  the  ways  of  men  ! 
Go  ask  the  banker,  with  his  golden  seals  ; 
Go  ask  the  borrower,  cringing  at  his  heels ; 
Go  ask  the  maid  who,  emulous  of  woe, 
Discards  the  worthier  for  the  wealthier  beau  ; 
Go  ask  the  Parson,  when  a  higher  prize 
Points  with  the  salary  where  his  duty  lies ; 
Go  ask  the  Lawyer,  who,  in  legal  smoke, 
Stands,  like  a  stoker,  redolent  of  "  Coke," 
And  swings  his  arms  to  emphasize  a  plea 
Made  doubly  ardent  by  a  golden  fee  ; 
Go  ask  the  Doctor,  who  has  kindly  sped 
Old  Croesus,  dying  on  a  damask  bed, 


1G6  THE    MOSEY-KIXG. 

While  his  poor  neighbor  —  wonderful  to  tell  — 
Was  left  to  Nature,  suffered,  and  got  well ! 
Go  ask  the  belle,  in  high  patrician  pride, 
Who  spurns  the  maiden  nurtured  at  her  side, 
Her  youth's  loved  playmate  at  the  village-school, 
Ere  changing  fortune  taught  the  rigid  rule 
Which  marks  the  loftier  from  the  lowlier  lot,  — 
,  Those  who  have  money  from  those  who  have  not  1 

Of  all  the  ills  that  owe  their  baneful  rise 
To  wealth  p'ergrown,  the  most  despotic  vice 
Is  Circean  Luxury ;  prolific  dame 
Of  mental  impotence,  and  moral  shame, 
And  all  the  cankering  evils  that  debase 
The  human  form,  and  dwarf  the  human  race. 

See  yon  strange  figure,  and  a  moment  scan 
That  slenderest  sample  of  the  genus  man  1 
Mark,  as  he  ambles,  those  precarious  pegs 
Which  by  their  motion  must  be  deemed  his  legs  I 
He  has  a  head,  —  one  may  be  sure  of  that 
By  just  observing  that  he  wears  a  hat ; 
That  he  has  arms  is  logically  plain 
From  his  wide  coat-sleeves  and  his  pendant  cane  ; 
A  tongue  as  well,  —  the  inference  is  fair, 
Since,  on  occasion,  he  can  lisp* and  swear. 
You  ask  his  use  ?  —  that 's  not  so  very  clear, 
Unless  to  spend  five  thousand  pounds  a  year 
In  modish  vices  which  his  soul  adores, 
Drink,   dress,   and   gaming,    horses,   hounds,   and 

scores 

Of  other  follies  which  I  can't  rehearse, 
Dear  to  himself  and  dearer  to  his  purse. 


THE    MONEY-KING.  167 

No  product  he  of  Fortune's  fickle  dice : 
The  due  result  of  Luxury  and  Vice, 
Three  generations  have  sufficed  to  bring 
That  narrow-chested,  pale,  enervate  thing 
Down  from  a  man,  —  for,  marvel  as  you  will, 
His  huge  great-grandsire  fought  on  Bunker-PIill  1 
Bore,  without  gloves,  a  musket  through  the  war  ; 
Came  back  adorned  with  many  a  noble  scar  ; 
Labored  and  prospered  at  a  thriving  rate, 
And,  dying,  left  his  heir  a  snug  estate,  — 
Which  grew  apace  upon  his  busy  hands, 
Stocks,  ships,  and  factories,  tenements  and  lands, 
All  here  at  last  —  the  money  and  the  race  — 
The  latter  ending  in  that  foolish  face  ; 
The  former  wandering,  far  beyond  his  aim, 
Back  to  the  rough  plebeians  whence  it  came ! 

Enough  of  censure ;  let  my  humble  lays 
Employ  one  moment  in  congenial  praise. 
Let  other  pens  with  pious  ardor  paint 
The  selfish  virtues  of  the  cloistered  saint ; 
In  lettered  marble  let  the  stranger  read 
Of  him  who,  dying,  did  a  worthy  deed, 
And  left  to  charity  the  cherished  store 
Which,  to  his  sorrow,  he  could  hoard  no  more. 
I  venerate  the  nobler  man  who  gives 
His  generous  dollars  while  the  donor  lives ; 
Gives  with  a  heart  as  liberal  as  the  palms 
That  to  the  needy  spread  his  honored  alms  ; 
Gives  with  a  head  whose  yet  unclouded  light 
To  worthiest  objects  points  the  giver's  sight ; 


168  TUT:  MONEY-KING. 

Gives  with  a  hand  still  potent  to  enforce 

His  well-aimed  bounty,  and  direct  its  course ;  — 

Such  is  the  giver  who  must  stand  confest 

In  giving  glorious,  and  supremely  blest ! 

One  such  as  this  the  captious  world  could  find 

In  noble  Perkins,  angel  of  the  blind  ; 

One  such  as  this  in  princely  Lawrence  shone, 

Ere  heavenly  kindred  claimed  him  for  their  own  ! 

To  me  the  boon  may  gracious  Heaven  assign,  — • 
No  cringing  suppliant  at  Mammon's  shrine, 
Nor  slave  of  Poverty,  —  with  joy  to  share 
The  happy  mean  expressed  in  Agur's  prayer  :  — 
A  house  (my  own)  to  keep  me  safe  and  warm, 
A  shade  in  sunshine,  and  a  shield  in  storm  ; 
A  generous  board,  and  fitting  raiment,  clear 
Of  debts  and  duns  throughout  the  circling  year ; 
Silver  and  gold,  in  moderate  store,  that  I 
May  purchase  joys  that  only  these  can  buy ; 
Some  gems  of  art,  a  culture!!  mind  to  please, 
Books,  pictures,  statues,  literary  ease. 
That '  Time  is  Money '  prudent  Franklin  shows 
In  rhyming  couplets,  and  sententious  prose. 
O,  had  he  taught  the  world,  in  prose  and  rhyme, 
The  higher  truth  that  Money  may  be  Time  ! 
And  showed  the  people,  in  his  pleasant  ways, 
The  art  of  coining  dollars  into  days ! 
Days  for  improvement,  days  for  social  life, 
Days  for  your  God,  your  children,  and  your  wife ; 
Some  days  for  pleasure,  and  an  hour  to  spend 
In  genial  converse  with  an  honest  friend. 


THE    MOXEY-KIXG.  169 

Such  days  be  mine  !  —  and  grant  me,  Heaven,  but 

this, 

With  blooming  health,  man's  highest  earthly  bliss, — 
And  I  will  read,  without  a  sigh  or  frown, 
The  startling  news  that  stocks  are  going  down  ; 
Hear  without  envy  that  a  stranger  hoards 
Or  spends  more  treasure  than  a  mint  affords ; 
See  my  next  neighbor  pluck  a  golden  plum, 
Calm  and  content  within  my  cottage-home  ; 
Take  for  myself  what  honest  thrift  may  bring, 
And  for  his  kindness,  bless  the  Money-King  1 


I'M  GROWING   OLD. 

M~s  days  pass  pleasantly  away ; 

My  nights  are  blest  with  sweetest  sleep ; 
I  feel  no  symptoms  of  decay ; 

I  have  no  cause  to  mourn  nor  weep ; 
My  foes  are  impotent  and  shy  ; 

My  friends  are  neither  false  nor  cold, 
And  yet,  of  late,  I  often  sigh,  — 

I  'm  growing  old  1 

My  growing  talk  of  olden  times, 
My  growing  thirst  for  early  news 

My  growing  apathy  to  rhymes, 
My  growing  love  of  easy  shoes, 

My  growing  hate  of  crowds  and  noise, 
My  growing  fear  of  taking  cold, 

All  whisper,  in  the  plainest  voice, 
I  'm  growing  old ! 

I  'm  growing  fonder  of  my  staff; 

I  'm  growing  dimmer  in  the  eyes ; 
I  'm  growing  fainter  in  my  laugh  ; 

I  'm  growing  deeper  in  my  sighs ; 


I  'M    GROWING   OLD.  1  71 

I  'in  growing  careless  of  my  dress  ; 
I  'm  growing  frugal  of  my  gold  ; 
I  'm  growing  wise  ;  I  'ni  growing  —  yes  — 
I  'm  growing  old ! 

I  see  it  in  my  changing  taste  ; 

I  see  it  in  my  changing  hair ; 
I  see  it  in  my  growing  waist ; 

I  see  it  in  my  growing  heir ; 
A  thousand  signs  proclaim  the  truth, 

As  plain  as  truth  was  ever  told, 
That,  even  in  my  vaunted  youth, 

I  'm  growing  old ! 

Ah  me !  —  my  very  laurels  breathe 

The  tale  in  my  reluctant  ears, 
And  every  boon  the  Hours  bequeath 

But  makes  me  debtor  to  the  Years ! 
E'en  Flattery's  honeyed  words  declare 

The  secret  she  would  fain  withhold, 
And  tells  ine  in  '  How  young  you  are  ! ' 
I  'm  growing  old  1 

Thanks  for  the  years !  — whose  rapid  flight 
My  sombre  Muse  too  sadly  sings ; 

Thanks  for  the  gleams  of  golden  light 
That  tint  the  darkness  of  then*  wings ; 

The  light  that  beams  from  out  the  sky, 
Those  Heavenly  mansions  to  unfold 

Where  all  are  blest,  and  none  may  sijrh, 
4 1  'm  growing  old  ! ' 


SPES  EST  VAXES. 

THERE  is  a  saying  of  the  ancient  sages: 

No  noble  human  thought, 
However  buried  in  the  dust  of  ages, 

Can  ever  come  to  naught. 

With  kindred  faith,  that  knows  no  base  dejection, 

Beyond  the  sages'  scope 
I  see,  afar,  the  final  resurrection 

Of  every  glorious  hope. 

I  soe,  as  parcel  of  a  new  creation, 

The  beatific  hour 
When  every  bud  of  lofty  aspiration 

Shall  blossom  into  flower. 

We  are  riot  mocked ;  it  was  not  in  derision 

God  made  our  spirits  free  ; 
The  poet's  dreams  are  but  the  dim  prevision 

Of  blessings  that  shall  be, — 

When  they  who  lovingly  have  hoped  and  trusted, 

Despite  some  transient  fears, 
Shall  see  Life's  jarring  elements  adjusted, 

And  rounded  into  spheres  ! 


THE   WAY   OF  THE  WORLD. 

i. 

A  YOUTH  would  marry  a  maiden, 

For  fair  and  fond  was  she ; 
But  she  was  rich,  and  he  was  poor, 
And  so  it  might  not  be. 
A  lady  never  could  wear  — 
Her  mother  held  it  firm  — 
A  gown  that  came  of  an  India  plant, 

Instead  of  an  India  worm!  — 
And  so  the  cruel  word  was  spoken ; 
And  so  it  was  two  hearts  were  broken. 

ii. 

A  youth  would  marry  a  maiden, 

For  fair  and  fond  was  she  ; 
But  he  was  high  and  she  was  low, 
And  so  it  might  not  be. 

A  man  who  had  worn  a  spur. 

In  ancient  battle  won, 
Had  sent  it  down  with  great  re.nou-n, 

To  goad  his  future  son  I — 
And  so  the  cruel  word  was  spoken  ; 
And  so  it  was  two  hearts  were  broken. 


174  THE    WAY   OF    THE    WORLD. 


A  youth  would  marry  a  maiden, 

For  fair  and  fond  was  she  ; 
But  their  sires  disputed  about  the  Mass, 
And  so  it  might  not  be. 
A  couple  of  wicked  Kings, 

Three  hundred  years  agone, 
Had  played  at  a  royal  game  of  chess, 

And  the  church  had  been  a  pawn  I  - 
And  so  the  cruel  word  was  spoken ; 
And  so  it  was  two  hearts  were  broken. 


THE  HEAD  AND  THE  HEART. 

THE  head  is  stately,  calm,  and  wise, 
And  bears  a  princely  part ; 

And  down  below  in  secret  lies 
The  warm,  impulsive  heart. 

The  lordly  head  that  sits  above, 
The  heart  that  beats  below, 

Their  several  office  plainly  prove, 
Their  true  relation  show. 

The  head  erect,  serene,  and  cool, 
Endowed  with  Reason's  art, 

Was  set  aloft  to  guide  and  rule 
The  throbbing,  wayward  heart. 

And  from  the  head,  as  from  the  higher, 
Comes  every  glorious  thought; 

And  in  the  heart's  transforming  fire 
All  noble  deeds  are  wrought. 

Yet  each  is  best  when  both  unite 
To  make  the  man  complete ; 

What  were  the  heat  without  the  light  ? 
The  light,  without  the  heat  ? 


MY   CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 

THERE  'a  a  castle  in  Spain,  very  charming  to  see, 
Though  built  without  money  or  toil ; 

Of  this  handsome  estate  I  am  owner  in  fee, 
And  paramount  lord  of  the  soil ; 

And  oft  as  I  may  I  'm  accustomed  to  go 

And  live,  like  a  king,  in  my  Spanish  Chateau  ! 

There 's  a  dame  most  be witchingly  rounded  and  ripe, 

Whose  wishes  are  never  absurd ; 
Who  does  n't  object  to  my  smoking  a  pipe, 

Nor  insist  on  the  ultimate  word  ; 
In  short,  she 's  the  pink  of  perfection,  you  know  ; 
And  she  lives,  like  a  queen,  in  my  Spanish  Chateau ! 

I  've  a  family  too ;  the  delightfulest  girls, 

And  a  bevy  of  beautiful  boys ;. 
All  quite  the  reverse  of  those  juvenile  churls 

Whose  pleasure  is  mischief  and  noise  ; 
No  modern  Cornelia  might  venture  to  show 
Such  jewels  as  those  in  my  Spanish  Chateau  ! 


MY    CASTLE    IN    SPAIN.  177 

!  have  servants  who  seek  their  contentment  in  mine, 

And  always  mind  what  they  are  at ; 
Who  never  embezzle  the  sugar  and  wine, 

And  slander  the  innocent  cat ; 
Neither  saucy,  nor  careless,  nor  stupidly  slow, 
Are  the  servants  who  wait  in  my  Spanish  Chateau  ! 

I  have  pleasant  companions  ;  most  affable  folk ; 

And  each  with  the  heart  of  a  brother ; 
Keen  wits,  who  enjoy  an  antagonist's  joke ; 

And  beauties  who  're  fon'd  of  each  other ; 
Such  people,  indeed,  as  you  never  may  know, 
Unless  you  should  come  to  my  Spanish  Chateau ! 

I  have  friends,  whose  commission  for  wearing  the 

name 

In  kindness  unfailing  is  shown  ; 
"Who  pay  to  another  the  duty  they  claim, 

And  deem  his  successes  their  own ; 
Who  joy  in  his  gladness,  and  weep  at  his  woe ; 
You  '11  find  them  (where  else  ?)   in  my  Spanish 
Chateau ! 

•  0  si  sic  semper  ! '  I  oftentimes  say, 

(Though  't  is  idle,  I  know,  to  complain,) 
To  think  that  again  I  must  force  me  away 

From  my  beautiful  castle  in  Spain  ! 
Ah  !  would  that  my  stars  had  determined  it  so 
J  might  live  the  year  round  in  my  Spanish  Cha- 
teau! 

8*  L 


A  REFLECTIVE  RETROSPECT. 

'T  is  twenty  years,  and  something  more, 

Since,  all  athirst  for  useful  knowledge, 
I  took  some  draughts  of  classic  lore, 

Drawn  very  mild,  at rd  College ; 

Yet  I  remember  all  that  one 

Could  wish  to  hold  in  recollection  ; 
The  boys,  the  joys,  the  noise,  the  fun  ; 

But  not  a  single  Conic  Section. 

I  recollect  those  harsh  affairs, 

The  morning  bells  that'gave  us  panics, 
I  recollect  the  formal  prayers, 

That  seemed  like  lessons  in  Mechanics ; 
I  recollect  the  drowsy  way 

In  which  the  students  listened  to  them, 
As  clearly,  in  my  wig,  to-day, 

As  when,  a  boy,  I  slumbered  through  them. 

I  recollect  the  tutors  all 

As  freshly  now,  if  I  may  say  so, 
As  any  chapter  I  recall 

In  Homer  or  Ovidius  Naso. 


A  REFLECTIVE  RETROSPECT.       179 

I  recollect,  extremely  well, 

'  Old  Hugh,'  the  mildest  of  fanatics; 
I  well  remember  Matthew  Bell, 

But  very  faintly,  Mathematics. 

1  recollect  the  prizes  paid 

For  lessons  fathomed  to  the  bottom  ; 
(Alas  that  pencil-marks  should  fade  !) 

I  recollect  the  chaps  who  got  'em,  — 
The  light  equestrians  who  soared 

O'er  every  passage  reckoned  stony ; 
And  took  the  chalks,  —  but  never  scored 

A  single  honor  to  the  pony  1 

Ah  me  !  —  what  changes  Time  has  wrought, 

And  how  predictions  have  miscarried ! 
A  few  have  reached  the  goal  they  sought, 

And  some  are  dead,  and  some  are  married  1 
And  some  in  city  journals  war ; 

And  some  as  politicians  bicker ; 
And  some  are  pleading  at  the  bar  — 

For  jury-verdicts,  or  for  liquor  1 

And  some  on  Trade  and  Commerce  wait ; 

And  some  in  schools  with  dunces  battle ; 
And  some  the  Gospel  propagate ; 

And  some  the  choicest  breeds  of  cattle ; 
And  some  are  living  at  their  ease ; 

And  some  were  wrecked  in  '  the  revulsion  ;' 
Some  serve  the  State  for  handsome  fees, 

And  one,  I  hear,  upon  compulsion ! 


180       A  REFLECTIVE  RETROSPECT. 

LAMOXT,  who,  in  his  college  days, 

Thought  e'en  a  cross  a  moral  scandal, 
Has  left  his  Puritanic  ways, 

And  worships  now  with  bell  and  candle ; 
And  MANN,  who  mourned  the  negro's  fate, 

And  held  the  slave  as  most  unlucky, 
Now  holds  him,  at  the  market  rate, 

On  a  plantation  in  Kentucky  ! 

TOM  KNOX  —  who  swore  in  such  a  tone 

It  fairly  might  be  doubted  whether 
It  really  was  himself  alone, 

Or  Knox  and  Erebus  together  — 
Has  grown  a  very  altered  man, 

And,  changing  oaths  for  mild  entreaty, 
Now  recommends  the  Christian  plan 

To  savages  in  Otaheite ! 

Alas  for  young  ambition's  vow  ! 

How  envious  Fate  may'  overthrow  it !  — 
Poor  HARVEY  is  in  Congress  now, 

Who  struggled  long  to  be  a  poet ; 
SMITH  carves  (quite  well)  memorial  stones, 

Who  tried  in  vain  to  make  the  law  go ; 
HALL  deals  in  hides ;  and  "  Pious  Jones  " 

Is  dealing  faro  in  Chicago ! 

And,  sadder  still,  the  brilliant  HAYS, 
Once  honest,  manly,  and  ambitious, 

Has  taken  latterly  to  ways 

Extremely  profligate  and  vicious  ; 


A  REFLECTIVE  RETROSPECT.       181 

By  slow  degrees  —  I  can't  tell  how  — 
He  's  reached  at  last  the  very  groundsel, 

And  in  New  York  he  figures  now, 
A  member  of  the  Common  Council  1 


4  DO  YOU  THINK  HE  IS  MARRIED? 

MADAM,  —  you  are  very  pressing, 
And  I  can't  decline  the  task ; 

With  the  slightest  gift  of  guessing, 
You  would  scarcely  need  to  ask  1 

Don't  you  see  a  hint  of  marriage 

In  his  sober-sided  face  ? 
In  his  rather  careless  carriage, 

And  extremely  rapid  pace  V 

If  he 's  not  committed  treason, 
Or  some  wicked  action  done, 

Can  you  see  the  faintest  reason 
Why  a  bachelor  should  run  ? 

Why  should  he  be  in  a  flurry  ? 

But  a  loving  wife  to  greet 
Is  a  circumstance  to  hurry 

The  most  dignified  of  feet  1 

When  afar  the  man  has  spied  her, 

If  the  grateful,  happy  elf 
Does  not  haste  to  be  beside  her, 

He  must  be  beside  himself! 


•DO   YOU    THINK   HE    IS    MAKlilED  V  *        183 

It  is  but  a  trifle,  maybe,  — 

But  observe  his  practised  tone, 

When  he  calms  your  stormy  baby, 
Just  as  if  it  were  his  own ! 

Do  you  think  a  certain  meekness 
You  have  mentioned  in  his  looks, 

Is  a  chronic  optic  weakness 

That  has  come  of  reading  books  ? 

Did  you  ever  see  his  vision 

Peering  underneath  a  hood, 
Save  enough  for  recognition, 

As  a  civil  person  should  1 

Could  a  Capuchin  be  colder 

When  he  glances,  as  he  must, 
At  a  finely-rounded  shoulder, 

Or  a  proudly-swelling  bust  ? 

Madam !  —  think  of  every  feature, 

Then  deny  it,  if  you  can, 
He  's  a  fond,  connubial  creature, 

And  a  very  married  man ! 


EARLY  RISING. 

'  GOD  bless  the  man  who  first  invented  sleep ! ' 
So  Sancho  Panza  said,  and  so  say  I : 

And  bless  him,  also,  that  he  did  n't  keep 
His  great  discovery  to  himself;  nor  try 

To  make  it  —  as  the  lucky  fellow  might  — 

A  close  monopoly  by  patent-right ! 

Yes  —  bless  the  man  who  first  invented  sleep, 
(I  really  can't  avoid  the  iteration ;) 

But  blast  the  man,  with  curses  loud  and  deep, 
Whate'er  the  rascal's  name,  or  age,  or  station, 

Who  first  invented,  and  went  round  advising, 

That  artificial  cut-off—  Early  Rising ! 

4  Rise  with  the  lark,  and  with  the  lark  to  bed,' 
Observes  some  solemn,  sentimental  owl ; 

Maxims  like  these  are  very  cheaply  said ; 
But,  ere  you  make  yourself  a  fool  or  fowl, 

Pray  just  inquire  about  his  rise  and  fall, 

And  whether  larks  have  any  beds  at  all  I 

*  The  time  for  honest  folks  to  be  a-bed ' 
Is  in  the  morning,  if  I  reason  right ; 

And  he  who  cannot  keep  his  precious  head 
Upon  his  pillow  till  it 's  fairlv  light, 


EARLY   RISING.  185 

And  so  enjoy  his  forty  morning  winks, 
Is  up  to  knavery ;  or  else  —  he  drinks ! 

Thomson,  who  sung  about  the  «  Seasons,'  said 
It  was  a  glorious  thing  to  rise  in  season ; 

But  then  he  said  it  —  lying  —  in  his  bed, 
At  ten  o'clock  A.  M.,  —  the  very  reason 

He  wrote  so  charmingly.     The  simple  fact  is, 

His  preaching  was  n't  sanctioned  by  his  practice. 

'T  is,  doubtless,  well  to  be  sometimes  awake,  — 
Awake  to  duty,  and  awake  to  truth,  — 

But  when,  alas  !  a  nice  review  we  take 

Of  our  best  deeds  and  days,  we  find,  in  sooth, 

The  hours  that  leave  the  slightest  cause  to  weep 

Are  those  we  passed  in  childhood  or  asleep  1 

'T  is  beautiful  to  leave  the  world  awhile 
-For  the  soft  visions  of  the  gentle  night ; 

And  free,  at  last,  from  mortal  care  or  guile, 
To  live  as  only  in  the  angels'  sight, 

In  sleep's  sweet  realm  so  cosily  shut  in, 

Where,  at  the  worst,  we  only  dream  of  sin ! 

So  let  us  sleep,  and  give  the  Maker  praise. 

I  like  the  lad  who,  when  his  father  thought 
To  clip  his  morning  nap  by  hackneyed  phrase 

Of  vagrant  worm  by  early  songster  caught, 
Cried,  *  Served  him  right !  —  it 's  not  at  all  surpris- 
ing; 
The  worm  was  punished,  sir,  for  early  rising ! ' 


IDEAL  AND  REAL. 


SOME  years  ago,  when  I  was  young, 

And  Mrs.  Jones  was  Miss  Delancy ; 
When  wedlock's  canopy  was  hung 

With  curtains  from  the  loom  of  fancy ; 
I  used  to  paint  my  future  life 

With  most  poetical  precision,  — 
:My  special  wonder  of  a  wife ; 

My  happy  days ;  my  nights  Elysian. 

I  saw  a  lady,  rather  small, 

(A  Juxo  was  my  strict  abhorrence,) 
With  flaxen  hair,  contrived  to  fall 

In  careless  ringlets,  a  la  Lawrence ; 
A  blonde  complexion  ;  eyes  that  drew 

From  autumn  clouds  their  azure  brightness; 
The  foot  of  Venus ;  arms  whose  hue 

Was  perfect  in  its  milky  whiteness  I 

I  saw  a  party,  quite  select,  — 

There  might  have  been- a  baker's  dozen; 
A  parson,  of  the  ruling  sect ; 

A  bridcmaid,  and  a  city  cousin ; 


IDEAL    AND    REAL.  187 

A  formal  speech  to  me  and  mine, 

(Its  meaning  I  could  scarce  discover ;) 

A  taste  of  cake ;  a  sip  of  wine ; 

Some  kissing  —  and  the  scene  was  over ! 

I  saw  a  baby  —  one  —  no  more ; 

A  cherub  pictured,  rather  faintly, 
Beside  a  pallid  dame  who  wore 

A  countenance  extremely  saintly. 
I  saw,  —  but  nothing  could  I  hear, 

Except  the  softest  prattle,  maybe, 
The  merest  breath  upon  the  ear,  — 

So  quiet  was  that  blessed  baby  ! 


I  see  a  woman,  rather  tall, 

And  yet,  I  own,  a  comely  lady ; 
Complexion  —  such  as  I  must  call 

(To  be  exact)  a  little  shady ; 
A  hand  not  handsome,  yet  confessed 

A  generous  one  for  love  or  pity ; 
A  nimble  foot,  and  —  neatly  dressed 

In  No.  5  —  extremely  pretty  1 

I  see  a  group  of  boys  and  girls 

Assembled  round  the  knee  paternal ; 

With  ruddy  cheeks  and  tangled  curls, 
And  manners  not  at  all  supernal. 


188  IDEAL    AND    REAL. 

And  one  has  reached  a  manly  size ; 

And  one  aspires  to  woman's  stature ; 
And  one  is  quite  a  recent  prize, 

And  all  abound  in  human  nature  ! 

The  boys  are  hard  to  keep  in  trim ; 

The  girls  are  often  rather  trying ; 
And  baby  —  like  the  cherubim  — 

Seems  very  fond  of  steady  crying ! 
And  yet  the  precious  little  one, 

His  mother's  dear,  despotic  master, 
Is  worth  a  thousand  babies  done 

In  Parian  or  in  alabaster  1 

And  oft  that"  stately  dame  and  I, 

When  laughing  o'er  our  early  dreaming, 
And  marking,  as  the  years  go  by, 

How  idle  was  our  youthful  scheming, 
Confess  the  wiser  Power  that  knew 

How  Duty  every  joy  enhances, 
And  gave  us  blessings  rich  and  true, 

And  better  far  than  all  our  fancies ! 


HOW  THE  MONEY  GOES. 

How  goes  the  Money  ?  —  Well, 
I  'm  sure  it  is  n't  hard  to  tell ; 
It  goes  for  rent,  and  water-rates, 
For  bread  and  butter,  coal  and  grates, 
Hats,  caps,  and  carpets,  hoops  and  hose,  - 
And  that 's  the  way  the  Money  goes ! 

How  goes  the  Money  ?  —  Nay, 
Don't  everybody  know  the  way  ? 
It  goes  for  bonnets,  coats,  and  capes, 
Silks,  satins,  muslins,  velvets,  crapes, 
Shawls,  ribbons,  furs,  and  furbelows,  — 
And  that 's  the  way  the  Money  goes ! 

How  goes  the  Money  ?  —  Sure, 

I  wish  the  ways  were, something  fewer; 

It  goes  for  wages,  taxes,  debts ; 

It  goes  for  presents,  goes  for  bets, 

For  paint,  pommade,  and  eau  de  nw,  — - 

And  that 's  the  way  the  Money  goes ! 

How  goes  the  Money  ?  —  Now, 
I  've  scarce  begun  to  mention  how ; 


190  HOW   THE    MONEY   GOES. 

It  goes  for  laces,  feathers,  rings, 
Toys,  dolls  —  and  other  baby- things, 
Whips,  whistles,  candies,  bells,  and  bows, 
And  that 's  the  way  the  Money  goes  1 

How  goes  the  Money  ?  —  Come, 

I  know  it  does  n't  go  for  rum ; . 

It  goes  for  schools  and  Sabbath  chimes, 

It  goes  for  charity  —  sometimes ; 

For  missions,  and  such  things  as  those,  — 

And  that 's  the  way  the  Money  goes ! 

How  goes  the  Money  ?  —  There  ! 
I  'm  out  of  patience,  I  declare ; 
It  goes  for  plays,  and  diamond-pins, 
For  public  alms,  and  private  sins, 
For  hollow  shams,  and  silly  shows,  — 
And  that 's  the  way  the  Money  goes  1 


TALE   OF  A  DOG. 

IN   TWO   PARTS. 
PART    FIRST. 


*  CURSE  on  all  curs ! '  I  heard  a  cynic  cry ; 

A  wider  malediction  than  he  thought,  — 
For  what 's  a  cynic  V  —  Had  he  cast  his  eye 

Within  his  dictionary,  he  had  caught 
This  much  of  learning,  —  the  untutored  elf,  — 
That  he,  unwittingly,  had  cursed  himself ! 

II. 

'  Beware  of  dogs/  the  great  Apostle  writes ; 

A  rather  brief  and  sharp  philippic  sent 
To  the  Philippians.     The  paragraph  invites 

Some  little  question  as  to  its  intent, 
Among  the  best  expositors  ;  but  then 
I  find  they  all  agree  that  "  dogs  "  meant  men ! 


Beware  of  men !  a  moralist  might  say, 

And  women  too ;  't  were  but  a  prudent  hint, 

Well  worth  observing  in  a  general  way, 
But  having  surely  no  conclusion  in 't, 

(As  saucy  satirists  are  wont  to  rail,) 

All  men  are  faithless,  and  all  women  frail. 


32  TALE    OF    A    DOG. 

IV. 

And  so  of  dogs  't  were  wrong  to  dogmatize 
Without  discrimination  or  degree  ; 

For  one  may  see,  with  half  a  pair  of  eyes, 
That  they  have  characters  as  well  as  we : 

I  hate  the  rascal  who  can  walk  the  street 

Caning  all  canines  he  may  chance  to  meet. 


I  had  a  dog  that  was  not  all  a  dog, 

For  in  his  nature  there  was  something  human ; 
Wisely  he  looked  as  any  pedagogue ; 

Loved  funerals  and  weddings,  like  a  woman  ; 
With  this  (still  human)  weakness,  I  confess, 
Of  always  judging  people  by  their  dress. 

VI. 

He  hated  beggars,  it  was  very  clear, 

And  oft  was  seen  to  drive  them  from  the  door ; 
But  that  was  education-;* —  for  a  year, 

Ere  yet  his  puppyhood  was  fairly  o'er, 
He  lived  with  a  Philanthropist,  and  caught 
His  practices ;  the  precepts  he  forgot ! 

vir. 
Which  was  a  pity ;  yet  the  dog,  I  grant, 

Led,  on  the  whole,  a  very  wortlr   life. 
To  teach  you  industry,  *  Go  to  the  ant,' 

(I  mean  the  insect,  not  your  uncle's  wife  ;) 
But  —  though  the  counsel  sounds  a  little  rude  — 
Go  to  the  dogs,  for  love  and  gratitude. 


TALE    OF   A    DOG.  193 

PART    SECOND. 
VIII. 

'  Throw  physic  to  the  dogs,'  the  poet  cries  ; 

A  downright  insult  to  the  canine  race ; 
There 's  not  a  puppy  but  is  far  too  wise 

To  put  a  pill  or  powder  in  his  face. 
Perhaps  the  poet  merely  meant  to  say, 
That  physic,  thrown  to  dogs,  is  thrown  away,  — 

IX. 

Which  (as  the  parson  said  about  the  dice) 
Is  the  best  throw  that  any  man  can  choose ; 

Take,  if  you  're  ailing,  medical  advice,  — 

Minus  the  medicine  —  which,  of  course,  refuse. 

Drugging,  no  doubt,  occasioned  Homoeopathy, 

And  all  the  dripping  horrors  of  Hydropathy. 

x. 

At  all  events,  't  is  fitting  to  remark, 

Dogs  spurn  at  drugs ;  their  daily  bark  and  whine 
Are  not  at  all  the  musty  wine  and  bark 

The  doctors  give  to  patients  in  decline ; 
And  yet  a  dog  who  felt  a  fracture's  smart 
Once  thanked  a  kind  chirurgeon  for  his  art. 

XI. 

I  Ve  heard  a  story,  and  believe  it  true, 
About  a  dog  that  chanced  to  break  his  leg ; 

His  master  set  it  and  the  member  grew 
Once  more  a  sound  and  serviceable  peg ; 

And  how  d'  ye  think  the  happy  dog  exprest 

The  grateful  feelings  of  his  glowing  breast  ? 
9  M 


194  TALE   OF    A    DOG. 


'T  was  not  in  words ;  the  customary  pay 
Of  human  debtors  for  a  friendly  act ; 

For  dogs  their  thoughts  can  neither  sing  nor  say 
E'en  in  "  dog-latin,"  which  (a  curious  fact) 

Is  spoken  only  —  as  a  classic  grace  — 

By  grave  Professors  of  the  human  race  1 


No,  't  was  in  deed ;  the  very  briefest  tail 
Declared  his  deep  emotions  at  his  cure ; 

Short,  but  significant ;  —  one  could  not  fail, 
From  the  mere  wagging  of  his  cynosure 

(*  Surgens  e  puppi '),  and  his  ears  agog, 

To  see  the  fellow  was  a  grateful  dog  1 


One  day  —  still  mindful  of  his  late  disaster  — 
He  wandered  off  the  village  to  explore  ; 

And  brought  another  dog  unto  his  master, 
Lame  of  a  leg,  as  he  had  been  before ; 

As  who  should  say,  '  You  see  !  —  the  dog  is  lame : 

You  doctored  me,  pray,  doctor  him  the  same ! ' 


So  runs  the  story,  and  you  have  it  cheap,  — 
Dog-cheap,  as  doubtless  such  a  tale  should  be ; 

The  moral,  surely,  is  n't  hard  to  reap :  — 
Be  prompt  to  listen  unto  mercy's  plea ; 

The  good  you  get,  diffuse  ;  it  will  not  hurt  you 

E'en  from  a  dog  to  learn  a  Christian  virtue  1 


LITTLE  JERRY,  THE  MILLER. 


A    BALLAD. 

BENEATH  the  hill  you  may  see  the  mill 
Of  wasting  wood  and  crumbling  stone  ; 

The  wheel  is  dripping  and  clattering  still, 
But  JERRY,  the  miller,  is  dead  and  gone. 

Year  after  year,  early  and  late, 

Alike  in  summer  and  winter  weather, 

He  pecked  the  stones  and  calked  the  gate, 
And  mill  and  miller  grew  old  together. 

4  Little  Jerry  1 '  —  't  was  all  the  same,  — 
They  loved  him  well  who  called  him  so ; 

And  whether  he  'd  ever  another  name, 
Nobody  ever  seemed  to  know. 

'T  was  *  Little  Jerry,  come  grind  my  rye ; ' 
And  *  Little  Jerry,  come  grind  my  wheat ; ' 

And  '  Little  Jerry '  was  still  the  cry, 
From  matron  bold  and  maiden  sweet. 


196  LITTLE   JERRY,    THE    MILLER. 

'T  was  *  Little  Jerry '  on  every  tongue, 
And  so  the  simple  truth  was  told ; 

For  Jerry  was  little  when  he  was  young, 
And  Jerry  was  little  when  he  was  old. 

But  what  in  size  he  chanced  to  lack, 
That  Jerry  made  up  in  being  strong ; 

I  've  seen  a  sack  upon  his  back 

As  thick  as  the  miller,  and  quite  as  long. 

Always  busy,  and  always  merry, 

Always  doing  his  very  best, 
A  notable  wag  was  Little  Jerry, 

"Who  uttered  well  his  standing  jest 

How  Jerry  lived  is  known  to  fame, 

But  how  he  died  there  's  none  may  know ; 
One  autumn  day  the  rumor  came, 

*  The  brook  and  Jerry  are  very  low/ 

And  then  't  was  whispered,  mournfully, 

The  leech  had  come,  and  he  was  dead ; 
And  all  the  neighbors  flocked  to  see ; 

*  Poor  Little  Jerry ! '  was  all  they  said. 

They  laid  him  in  his  earthy  bed,  — 
His  miller's  coat  his  only  shroud ; 

"  Dust  to  dust,"  the  parson  said, 
And  all  the  people  wept  aloud. 


LITTLE    JERRY,    THE    MILLER.  197 

For  he  had  shunned  the  deadly  sin, 

And  not  a  grain  of  over-toll 
Had  ever  dropped  into  his  bin, 

To  weigh  upon  his  parting  soul. 

Beneath  the  hill  there  stands  the  mill, 
Of  wasting  wood  and  crumbling  stone ; 

The  wheel  is  dripping  and  clattering  still, 
But  JERRY,  the  miller,  is  dead  and  gone. 


HOW  CYRUS  LAID  THE   CABLE. 

A   BALLAD. 

COME,  listen  all  unto  my  song ; 

It  is  no  silly  fable ; 
'T  is  all  about  the  mighty  cord 

They  call  the  Atlantic  Cable. 

Bold  Cyrus  Field  he  said,  says  he, 

1  have  a  pretty  notion 
That  I  can  run  a  telegraph 

Across  the  Atlantic"  Ocean. 

Then  all  the  people  laughed,  and  said, 

They  'd  like  to  see  him  do  it ; 
He  might  get  half-seas-over,  but 

He  never  could  go  through  it ; 

To  carry  out  his  foolish  plan 

He  never  would  be  able ; 
He  might  as  well  go  hang  himself 

With  his  Atlantic  Cable  1 


HOW   CYRUS   LAID    THE   CABLE.  199 

But  Cyrus  was  a  valiant  man, 

A  fellow  of  decision ; 
And  heeded  not  their  mocking  words, 

Their  laughter  and  derision. 

Twice  did  his  bravest  efforts  fail, 

And  yet  his  mind  was  stable ; 
He  wa'n't  the  man  to  break  his  heart 

Because  he  broke  his  cable. 

*  Once  more,  my  gallant  boys ! '  he  cried ; 

*  Three  times  !  —  you  know  the  fable,  — 
(I '11  make  it  thirty'  muttered  he, 

« But  I  will  lay  the  cable  ! ') 

Once  more  they  tried,  —  hurrah  1  hurrah  1 
What  means  this  great  commotion  ? 

rhe  Lord  be  praised  !  the  cable 's  laid 
Across  the  Atlantic  Ocean  I 

Loud  ring  the  bells  —  for,  flashing  through 

Six  hundred  leagues  of  water, 
Old  Mother  England's  benison 

Salutes  her  eldest  daughter  1 

O'er  all  the  land  the  tidings  speed, 

And  soon,  in  every  nation, 
They  '11  hear  about  the  cable  with 

Profoundest  admiration ! 


200  HOW   CYRUS   LAID    THE   CABLE. 

Now  long  live  James,  and  long  live  Vic, 
And  long  live  gallant  Cyrus ; 

And  may  his  courage,  faith,  and  zeal 
With  emulation  fire  us ; 

And  may  we  honor  evermore 
The  manly,  bold,  and  stable ; 

And  tell  our  sons,  to  make  them  brave, 
How  Cyrus  laid  the  cable  1 


THE  JOLLY  MABJNEK. 

A   BALLAD. 

IT  was  a  jolly  mariner 

As  ever  hove  a  log ; 
He  wore  his  trousers  wide  and  free, 

And  always  ate  his  prog, 
And  blessed  his  eyes,  in  sailor-wise, 

And  never  shirked  his  grog. 

Up  spoke  this  jolly  mariner, 

Whilst  walking  up  and  down :  — 

4  The  briny  sea  has  pickled  me, 
And  done  me  very  brown ; 

But  here  I  goes,  in  these  here  clo'es, 
A-cruising  in  the  town  1.' 

The  first  of  all  the  curious  things 
That  chanced  his  eye  to  meet, 

As  this  undaunted  mariner 
Went  sailing  up  the  street, 

Was,  tripping  with  a  little  cane, 
A  dandy  all  complete  1 
8* 


202  THE    JOLLY    MARINER. 

He  stopped,  —  that  jolly  mariner,  — 
And  eyed  the  stranger  well :  — 

*  What  that  may  be/  he  said,  says  he 

*  Is  more  than  I  can  tell ; 

But  ne'er  before,  on  sea  or  shore, 
Was  such  a  heavy  swell  1  * 

He  met  a  lady  hi  her  hoops, 

And  thus  she  heard  him  hail:  — 

*  Now  blow  me  tight !  —  but  there 's  a  sight 

To  manage  in  a  gale ! 
J  never  saw  so  small  a  craft 
With  such  a  spread  o'  sail ! 

*  Observe  the  craft  before  and  aft,  — 

She  'd  make  a  pretty  prize ! ' 
And  then  in  that  improper  way 

He  spoke  about  his  eyes, 
That  mariners  are  wont  to  use 

In  anger  or  surprise. 

He  saw  a  plumber  on  a  roof, 

Who  made  a  mighty  din :  — 
4  Shipmate,  ahoy ! '  the  rover  cried, 

•  It  makes  a  sailor  grin 
To  see  you  copper-bottoming 

Your  upper  decks  with  tin  1 ' 

He  met  a  yellow-bearded  man, 

And  asked  about  the  way  ; 
But  not  a  word  could  he  make  out 

Of  what  the  chap  would  say, 


THE   JOLLY  MARINER.  203 

Unless  lie  meant  to  call  him  names, 
By  screaming,  '  Nix  furstay ! ' 

Up  spoke  this  jolly  mariner, 

And  to  the  man  said  he, 
'  I  have  n't  sailed  these  thirty  years 

Upon  the  stormy  sea, 
To  bear  the  shame  of  such  a  name 

As  I  have  heard  from  thee  ! 

*  So  take  thou  that  I '  —  and  laid  him  flat ; 

But  soon  the  man  arose, 
And  beat  the  jolly  mariner 

Across  his  jolly  nose, 
Till  he  was  fain,  from  very  pain, 

To  yield  him  to  the  blows. 

'T  was  then  this  jolly  mariner, 

A  wretched  jolly  tar, 
Wished  he  was  in  a  jolly-boat 

Upon  the  sea  afar, 
Or  riding  fast,  before  the  blast, 

Upon  a  single  spar  I 

'T  was  then  this  jolly  mariner 

Returned  unto  his  ship, 
And  told  unto  the  wondering  crew 

The  story  of  his  trip, 
With  many  oaths  and  curses,  too, 

Upon  his  wicked  lip  1  — 


204  THE   JOLLY   MARINER. 

As  hoping  —  so  this  mariner 
In  fearful  words  harangued  — 

His  timbers  might  be  shivered,  and 
His  le'ward  scuppers  danged, 

(A  double  curse,  and  vastly  worse 
Than  being  shot  or  hanged  !) 

If  ever  he  —  and  here  again 
A  dreadful  oath  he  swore  — 

If  ever  he,  except  at  sea, 
Spoke  any  stranger  more, 

Or  like  a  son  of —  something  —  went 
A-cruising  on  the  shore  I 


YE  TAILYOR-MAN. 

A   CONTEMPLATIVE   BALLAD. 

BIGHT  jollie  is  ye  tailyor-man, 

As  annie  man  may  be ; 
And  all  ye  daye  upon  ye  benche 

He  worketh  merrilie. 

And  oft  ye  while  in  pleasante  wise 
He  coileth  up  his  lymbes, 

He  singeth  songs  ye  like  whereof 
Are  not  in  Watts  his  hymns. 

And  yet  he  toileth  all  ye  while 
His  merrie  catches  rolle  ; 

As  true  unto  ye  needle  as 
Ye  needle  to  ye  pole. 

What  cares  ye  valiant  tailyor-man 
For  all  ye  cowarde  feares  ? 

Against  ye  scissors  of  ye  Fates 
He  pointes  his  mightie  sheares. 

He  heedeth  not  ye  anciente  jests 
That  witlesse  sinners  use  ; 

What  feareth  ye  bolde  tailyor-man 
Ye  hissinge  of  a  goose  ? 


206  YE    TAILYOR-MAN. 

He  pulleth  at  ye  busie  tkreade, 
To  feede  his  lovinge  wife 

And  eke  his  childe  ;  for  unto  them 
It  is  ye  threade  of  life. 

He  cutteth  well  ye  riche  man's  coate, 
And  with  unseemlie  pride 

He  sees  ye  little  waistcoate  in 
Ye  cabbage  bye  his  side. 

Meanwhile  ye  tailyor-man  his  wife, 

To  labor  nothinge  loth, 
Sits  bye  with  readie  hande  to  baste 

Ye  urchin  and  ye  cloth. 

Full  happie  is  ye  tailyor-man, 

Yet  is  he  often  tried, 
Lest  he,  from  fullnesse  of  ye  dimes, 

Wax  wanton  in  his  pride. 

Full  happie  is  ye  tailyor-man, 

And  yet  he  hath  a  foe, 
A  cunninge  enemie  that  none 

So  well  as  tailyors  knowe. 

It  is  ye  slipperie  customer 
Who  goes  his  wicked  wayes, 

And  weares  ye  tailyor-man  his  coate, 
But  never,  never  payes ! 


TOWN  AND   COUNTRY. 
AN  ECLOGUE. 

CLOVERTOP. 

I  'VE  thought,  my  Cousin,  it  *s  extremely  queer 
That  you,  who  love  to  spend  your  August  here, 
Don't  bring,  at  once,  your  wife  and  children  down, 
And  quit,  for  goodt  the  noisy,  dusty  town. 

SHILLINGSLDE. 

Ah  !  simple  swain,  this  sort  of  life  may  do 
For  such  a  verdant  Clovertop  as  you, 
Content  to  vegetate  in  summer  air, 
And  hibernate  in  winter  —  like  a  bear  I 

CLOVERTOP. 

Here  we  have  butter  pure  as  virgin  gold, 
And  milk  from  cows  that  can  a  tail  unfold 
With  bovine  pride  ;  and  new-laid  eggs,  whose  praise 
Is  sung  by  pullets  with  their  morning  lays  ; 
Trout  from  the  brook ;  good  water  from  the  well ; 
And  other  blessings  more  than  I  can  tell  1 


208  TOWX   AND   COUNTRY. 

8HILLINGSIDE. 

TJiere,  simple  rustic,  we  have  nightly  plays, 
And  operatic  music,  —  charming  ways 
Of  spending  time  and  money,  —  lots  of  fun ; 
The  Central  Park  —  whene'er  they  get  it  done ; 
Barnum's  Museum,  full  of  things  erratic, 
Terrene,  amphibious,  airy,  and  aquatic  1 

CLOVERTOP. 

Here  we  have  rosy,  radiant,  romping  girls,  . 
With  lips  of  rubies,  and  with  teeth  of  pearls ; 
I  dare  not  mention  half  their  witching  charms ; 
But,  ah  1  the  roundness  of  their  milky  arms, 
And,  oh  !  what  polished  shoulders  they  display, 
Bending  o'er  tubs  upon  a  washing-day  1 

SHILLINGSIDE. 

There  we  have  ladies  most  superbly  made 
(By  fine  artistes,  who  understand  their  trade), 
Who  dance  the  German,-flirt  a  graceful  fan, 
And  speak  such  French  as  no  Parisian  can  ; 
Who  sing  much  louder  than  your  country  thrushes, 
And    wear   (thank    Phalon!)   far  more    brilliant 
Blushes ! 

CLOVERTOP. 

Here,  boastful  Shilling,  we  have  flowery  walks, 
Where  you  may  stroll,  and  hold  delightful  talks, 
(No  saucy  placard  frowning  as  you  pass, 
*  Ten  dollars'  fine  for  walking  on  the  grass  ! ') 
Dim-lighted  groves,  where  love's  delicious  words     ; 
Are  breathed  to  music  of  melodious  birds. 


TOWN    AND    COUNTRY.  209 

SHILLINGSIDE. 

There,  silly  Clover,  dashing  belles  we  meet, 
Sweeping  with  silken  robes  the  dusty  street ; 
May  gaze  into  their  faces  as  they  pass, 
Beneath  the  rays  of  dimly-burning  gas, 
Or,  standing  at  a  crossing  when  it  rains, 
May  see  some  pretty  ankles  for  our  pains. 

TLOVERTOP. 

Here  you  may  angle  for  the  speckled  trout, 
Play  him  awhile,  with  gentle  hand,  about, 
Then,  like  a  sportsman,  pull  the  fellow  out  I 

SHILLINGSIDE. 

There,  too,  is  fishing  quite  as  good,  I  ween, 
Where  careless,  gaping  gudgeons  oft  are  seen, 
Rich  as  yon  pasture,  and  almost  as  green  1 

CLOVERTOP. 

Here  you  may  see  the  meadow's  grassy  plain, 
Ripe,  luscious  fruits,  and  shocks  of  golden  grain ; 
And  view,  luxuriant  in  a  hundred  fields, 
The  gorgeous  wealth  that  bounteous  Nature  yields  I 

SHILLINGSIDE. 

There  you  may  see  Trade's  wondrous  strength  and 

pride, 

Where  merchant-navies  throng  on  every  side, 
And  view,  collected  in  Columbia's  mart, 
Alike  the  wealth  of  Nature  and  of  Art ! 


210          TOWN  AND  COUNTRY. 
CLOVERTOP. 

Cease,  clamorous  cit  I  I  love  these  quiet  nooks, 
Where  one  may  sleep,  or  dawdle  over  books, 
Or,  if  he  wish  of  gentle  love  to  dream, 
May  sit  and  muse  by  yonder  babbling  stream  — 

8HILLING8IDE. 

Dry  up  your  babbling  stream !  my  Clovertop  — 
You  're  getting  garrulous  ;  it  's  time  to  stop. 
I  love  the  city,  and  the  city's  smoke  ; 
The  smell  of  gas  ;  the  dust  of  coal  and  coke ; 
The  sound  of  bells  ;  the  tramp  of  hurrying  feet ; 
The  sight  of  pigs  and  Paphians  in  the  street ; 
The  jostling  crowd  ;  the  never-ceasing  noise 
Of  rattling  coaches,  and  vociferous  boys ; 
The  cry  of  *  Fire  ! '  and  the  exciting  scene 
Of  heroes  running  with  their  mad  *  mersheen  ; ' 
Nay,  now  I  think  that  I  could  even  stand 
The  direful  din  of  Barnum^brazen  band, 
So  much  I  long  to  see  the  town  again  1 
Good-bye  !  I  'm  going  by  the  evening  train  ! 
Don't  fail  to  call  whene'er  you  come  to  town, 
We  '11  do  the  city,  boy,  and  do  it  brown  ; 
I  've  really  had  a  pleasant  visit  here, 
And  mean  to  come  again  another  year. 


MY  FAMILIAR. 

Ecce  iterum  Crispinus  ! 


AGAIN  I  hear  that  creaking  step  !  — 

He  'a  rapping  at  the  door  1  — 
Too  well  I  know  the  boding  sound 

That  ushers  in  a  bore. 
I  do  not  tremble  when  I  meet 

The  stoutest  of  my  foes, 
But  Heaven  defend  me  from  the  friend 

Who  comes  —  but  never  goes  1 


He  drops  into  my  easy-chair, 

And  asks  about  the  news ; 
He  peers  into  my  manuscript, 

And  gives  his  candid  views ; 
He  tells  me  where  he  likes  the  line, 

And  where  he 's  forced  to  grieve ; 
He  takes  the  strangest  liberties,  — 

But  never  takes  his  leave  1 


212  MY   FAMILIAR. 


He  reads  my  daily  paper  through 

Before  I  've  seen  a  word ; 
He  scans  the  lyric  (that  I  wrote) 

And  thinks  it  quite  absurd ; 
He  calmly  smokes  my  last  cigar, 

And  coolly  asks  for  more ; 
He  opens  everything  he  sees  — 

Except  the  entry  door ! 


He  talks  about  his  fragile  health, 

And  tells  me  of  the  pains 
He  suffers  from  a  score  of  ills 

Of  which  he  ne'er  complains ; 
And  how  he  struggled  once  with  death 

To  keep  the  fiend  at  bay ; 
On  themes  like  those  away  he  goes  — 

But  never  goes  away  ! 


He  tells  me  of  the  carping  words 

Some  shallow  critic  wrote  ; 
And  every  precious  paragraph 

Familiarly  can  quote ; 
He  thinks  the  writer  did  me  wrong ; 

He  'd  like  to  run  him  through  ! 
He  says  a  thousand  pleasant  things  — 

But  never  says  4  Adieu  1 ' 


MY   FAMILIAR.  213 

VI. 

Whene'er  he  comes  —  that  dreadful  man  — 

Disguise  it  as  I  may, 
I  know  that,  like  an  Autumn  rain, 

He  '11  last  throughout  the  day. 
In  vain  I  speak  of  urgent  tasks ; 

In  vain  I  scowl  and  pout ; 
A  frown  is  no  extinguisher,  — 

It  does  not  put  him  out  I 


I  mean  to  take  the  knocker  off, 

Put  crape  upon  the  door, 
Or  hint  to  John  that  I  am  gone 

To  stay  a  month  or  more. 
I  do  not  tremble  when  I  meet 

The  stoutest  of  my  foes, 
But  Heaven  defend  me  from  the  friend 

Who  never,  never  goes  1 


HOW  THE    LAWYERS    GOT  A  PATRON 
SAINT. 

A   LEGEND    OF    BRETAGNE. 

A  LAWYER  of  Brittany,  once  on  a  time, 
When  business  was  flagging  at  home, 

Was  sent  as  a  legate  to  Italy's  clime, 
To  confer  with  the  Father  at  Rome. 

And  what  was  the  message  the  minister  brought  ? 

To  the  Pope  he  preferred  a  complaint 
That  each  other  profession  a  Patron  had  got, 

While  the  Lawyers  had  never  a  Saint ! 

*  Very  true,"  said  his  Heliness,  —  smiling  to  find 

An  attorney  so  civil  and  pleasant,  — 

*  But  my  very  last  Saint  is  already  assigned, 

And  I  can't  make  a  new  one  at  present. 

«  To  choose  from  the  Bar  it  were  fittest,  I  think ; 

Perhaps  you  Ve  a  man  in  your  eye ; '  — 
And  his  Holiness  here  gave  a  mischievous  wink 

To  a  Cardinal  sitting  near  by. 

But  the  lawyer  replied,  in  a  lawyer-like  way, 

"  I  know  what  is  modest,  I  hope  ; 
I  did  n't  come  hither,  allow  me  to  say, 

To  nroffer  advice  to  the  Pone  1" 


HOW   THE   LAWYERS,    ETC-  215 

'  Very  well,'  said  his  Holiness,  *  then  we  will  do 

The  best  that  may  fairly  be  done  ; 
It  don't  seem  exactly  the  thing,  it  is  true, 

That  the  Law  should  be  Saint-less  alone. 

*  To  treat  your  profession  as  well  as  I  can, 

And  leave  you  no  cause  of  complaint, 
I  propose,  as  the  only  quite  feasible  plan, 
To  give  you  a  second-hand  Saint 

*  To  the  neighboring  church  you  will  presently  go, 

And  this  is  the  plan  I  advise  :  — 
First,  say  a  few  aves  —  a  hundred  or  so  — 
Then,  carefully  bandage  your  eyes ; 

'  Then  (saying  more  aves)  go  groping  around, 

And,  touching  one  object  alone, 
The  Saint  you  are  seeking  will  quickly  be  found, 

For  the  first  that  you  touch  is  your  own.' 

The  lawyer  did  as  his  Holiness  said, 

Without  an  omission  or  flaw  ; 
Then,  taking  the  bandages  off  from  his  head, 

What  do  you  think  he  saw  ? 

There  was  St.  Michael  (figured  in  paint) 

Subduing  the  Father  of  Evil ; 
And  the  lawyer,  exclaiming  *  Be  thou  our  Saint  1 ' 

Was  touching  the  form  of  the  DEVIL  1 


THE  KING  AND  THE    COTTAGER. 


A  PERSIAN   LEGEND. 
I. 

PRAY  list  unto  a  legend 
The  ancient  poets  tell ; 

T  is  of  a  mighty  monarch 
In  Persia  once  did  dwell ; 

A  mighty  queer  old  monarch 
Who  ruled  his  kingdom  welL 


'  I  must  build  another  palace/ 
Observed  this  mighty  King ; 

*  For  this  is  getting  shabby 

Along  the  southern  wing ; 
And,  really,  for  a  monarch, 
It  is  n't  quite  the  thing. 

in. 

*  So  I  will  have  a  new  one, 

Although  I  greatly  fear, 
To  build  it  just  to  suit  me, 

Will  cost  me  rather  dear ; 
And  I  '11  choose,  God  wot,  another  spot, 

Much  finer  than  this  here/ 


THE   KING   AND    THE   COTTAGER.  217 


So  he  travelled  o'er  his  kingdom 

A  proper  site  to  find, 
Where  he  might  build  a  palace 

Exactly  to  his  mind, 
All  with  a  pleasant  prospect 

Before  it,  and  behind. 


Not  long  with  this  endeavor 
The  King  had  travelled  round, 

Ere,  to  his  royal  pleasure, 
A  charming  spot  he  found ; 

But  an  ancient  widow's  cabin 
Was  standing  on  the  ground. 

VI. 

'  Ah,  here,'  exclaimed  the  monarch, 

4  Is  just  the  proper  spot, 
If  this  woman  would  allow  me 

To  remove  her  little  cot." 
But  the  beldam  answered  plainly, 

She  had  rather  he  would  not  1 

VII. 

*  Within  this  lonely  cottage, 
Great  Monarch,  I  was  born  ; 

And  only  from  this  cottage 
By  Death  will  I  be  torn  : 

So  spare  it,  in  your  justice, 
Or  spoil  it  in  your  scorn  I ' 
10 


218     THE  KING  AND  THE  COTTAGER. 


Then  all  the  courtiers  mocked  her, 
With  cruel  words  and  jeers  :  — 

4  *T  is  plain  her  royal  master 
She  neither  loves  nor  fears  ; 

We  would  knock  her  ugly  hovel 
About  her  ugly  ears  ! 

IX. 

4  When  ever  was  a  subject 

Who  might  the  King  withstand  ? 
Or  deem  his  spoken  pleasure 

As  less  than  his  command  ? 
Of  course  he  '11  rout  the  beldam, 

And  confiscate  her  land  1  ' 


But,  to  their  deep  amazement, 

His  Majesty  replied  : 
4  Good  woman,  never  heed  them, 

The  King  is  on  your  side  : 
Your  cottage  is  your  castle, 

And  here  you  shall  abide. 


4  To  raze  it  in  a  moment, 
The  power  is  mine,  I  grant  ; 

My  absolute  dominion 
A  hundred  poets  chant  ; 

For  being  Khan  of  Persia, 
There  's  nothing  that  I  can'/  / 


THE   KING   AND    THE   COTTAGER.  219 

XII. 

('T  was  in  this  pleasant  fashion 

The  mighty  monarch  spoke  ; 
For  kings  have  merry  fancies 

Like  other  mortal  folk : 
And  none  so  high  and  mighty 

But  loves  his  little  joke.) 


*  But  power  is  scarcely  worthy 

Of  honor  or  applause, 
That  in  its  domination 

Contemns  the  widow's  cause, 
Or  perpetrates  injustice 

By  trampling  on  the  laws. 

XIV. 

*  That  I  have  wronged  the  meanest 

No  honest  tongue  may  say : 
So  bide  you  in  your  cottage, 

Good  woman,  while  you  may  ; 
What  *s  yours  by  deed  and  purchase 

No  man  may  take  away. 

XV. 

« And  I  will  build  beside  it, 
For  though  your  cot  may  be 

In  such  a  lordly  presence 
No  fitting  thing  to  see, 

If  it  honor  not  my  castle, 
It  will  surely  honor  me  1 


220  THE   KING  AND   THE   COTTAGER. 

XVI. 

4  For  so  my  loyal  people, 
Who  gaze  upon  the  sight, 

Shall  know  that  in  oppression 
I  do  not  take  delight ; 

Nor  hold  a  king's  convenience 
Before  a  subject's  right  1 " 


Now  from  his  spoken  purpose 
The  King  departed  not ; 

He  built  the  royal  dwelling 
Upon  the  chosen  spot, 

And  there  they  stood  together, 
The  palace  and  the  cot  I 

xvni. 
Sure  such  unseemly  neighbors 

Were  never  seen  before ; 
*  His  Majesty  is  doting,' 

His  silly  courtiers  swore ; 
But  all  true  loyal  subjects, 

They  loved  the  King  the  more. 

XIX. 

Long,  long  he  ruled  his  kingdom 

In  honor  and  renown ; 
But  danger  ever  threatens 

The  head  that  wears  a  crown, 
And  Fortune,  tired  of  smiling, 

For  once  put  on  a  frown. 


THE   EIXG   AND    THE    COTTAGER.  221 

XX. 

For  ever  secret  Envy 

Attends  a  high  estate  ; 
And  ever  lurking  Malice 

Pursues  the  good  and  great ; 
And  ever  base  Ambition 

Will  end  in  deadly  Hate ! 


And  so  two  wicked  courtiers, 
Who  long  had  strove  in  vain, 

By  craft  and  evil  counsels, 
To  mar  the  monarch's  reign, 

Contrived  a  scheme  infernal 
Whereby  he  should  be  slain  I 

XXII. 

But  as  all  deeds  of  darkness 
Are  wont  to  leave  a  clew 

Before  the  glaring  sunlight 
To  bring  the  knaves  to  view, 

That  sin  may  be  rewarded, 
And  Satan  get  his  due,  — 

XXIII. 

To  plan  their  wicked  treason, 
They  sought  a  lonely  spot 

Behind  the  royal  palace, 
Hard  by  the  widow's  cot, 

Who  heard  then'  machinations, 
And  straight  revealed  the  plot  1 


222  THE    KING   AND    THE    COTTAGER. 


*  I  see/  —  exclaimed  the  Persian,  — 
1  The  just  are  wise  alone  ; 

Who  spares  the  rights  of  others 
May  chance  to  guard  his  own  ; 

The  widow's  humble  cottage 

Has  propped  a  monarch's  throne  i 


LOVE  AND  LUCRE. 


AN   ALLEGORY. 

LOVE  and  LUCRE  met  one  day, 
In  chill  November  weather, 

And  so,  to  while  the  time  away, 
They  held  discourse  together. 

LOVE  at  first  was  rather  shy, 
As  thinking  there  was  danger 

In  venturing  so  very  nigh 

The  haughty-looking  stranger. 

But  LUCRE  managed  to  employ 

Behavior  so  potential, 
That,  in  a  trice,  the  bashful  boy 

Grew  bold  and  confidential. 


*  I  hear,'  quoth  LUCRE,  bowing  low, 
*  With  all  your  hearts  and  honey, 

You  sometimes  suffer  —  is  it  so  ?  — 
For  lack  of  mortal  money.' 


224  LOVE  AND   LUCRE. 

LOVE  owned  that  he  was  poor  in  aught 

Except  in  golden  fancies, 
And  ne'er  as  yet  had  given  a  thought 

To  mending  his  finances ; 

*  Besides,  I  've  heard '  —  so  LOVE  went  on, 

The  other's  hint  improving  — 

*  That  gold,  however  sought  or  won, 

Is  not  a  friend  to  loving.' 

*  An  arrant  lie  I  —  as  you  shall  see,  — 

Full  long  ago  invented, 
By  knaves  who  know  not  you  nor  me, 
To  tickle  the  demented.' 

And  LUCRE  waved  his  wand,  and  lo  I 

By  magical  expansion, 
LOVE  saw  his  little  hovel  grow 

Into  a  stately  mansion  1 

And  where,  before,  he  used  to  sup 

Untended  in  his  cottage, 
And  grumble  o'er  the  earthen  cup 

That  held  his  meagre  pottage,  — 

Now,  smoking  viands  crown  his  board, 
Aud  many  a  flowing  chalice  ; 

His  larder  was  with  plenty  stored, 
And  beauty  filled  the  palace  1 


LOVE    AND    LUCRE.  225 

And  LOVE,  though  rather  lean  at  first, 

And  tinged  with  melancholy, 
On  generous  wines  and  puddings  nursed, 

Grew  very  stout  and  jolly  1 

Yet,  mindful  of  his  early  friend, 

He  never  turns  detractor, 
But  prays  that  blessings  may  attend 

Ilis  worthy  benefactor ; 

And  when  his  friends  are  gay  above 

Their  evening  whist  or  eucre, 
And  drink  a  brimming  health  to  LOVE, 

He  drinks  *  success  to  LUCRE  1 ' 


10* 


DEATH  AM)  CUPID. 


AN   ALLEGORY. 

AH  !  —  who  but  oft  hath  marvelled  why 

The  gods  who  rule  above 
Should  e'er  permit  the  young  to  die, 

The  old  to  fall  in  love  1 

Ah  1  —  why  should  hapless  human  kind 

Be  punished  out  of  season  ? 
Pray  listen,  and  perhaps  you  11  find 

My  rhyme  may  give  the  reason. 

DEATH,  strolling  out  one  Summer's  day, 
Met  CUPID,  with  his  sparrows ; 

And,  bantering  in  a  merry  way, 
Proposed  a  change  of  arrows ! 

'  Agreed  ! '  —  quoth  CUPID,  — « I  foresee 
The  queerest  game  of  errors ; 

For  you  the  King  of  Hearts  will  be  1 
And  I  '11  be  King  of  Terrors  1 ' 


DEATH   AND    CUPID.  227 

And  so  't  was  done ;  —  alas  the  day 

That  multiplied  their  arts  1  — 
Each  from  the  other  bore  away 

A  portion  of  his  darts !  — 

And  that  explains  the  reason  why, 

Despite  the  gods  above, 
The  young  are  often  doomed  to  die  ; 

The  old  to  fall  in  love  ! 


THE  FAMILY  MAN. 


I  ONCE  was  a  jolly  young  beau, 
And  knew  how  to  pick  up  a  fan, 

But  I  've  done  with  all  that,  you  must  .know, 
For  now  I  'm  a  family  man  1 

When  a  partner  I  ventured  to  take, 
The  ladies  all  favored  the  plan ; 

They  vowed  I  was  certain  to  make 
*  Such  an  excellent  family  man  ! ' 

If  I  travel  by  land  or  by  water, 

I  have  charge  of  some  Susan  or  Ann  ; 

Mrs.  Brown  is  so  sure  that  her  daughter 
Is  safe  with  a  family  man  ! 

The  trunks  and  the  bandboxes  round  'em 
With  something  like  horror  I  scan, 

But  though  I  may  mutter,  4  Confound  'em  1 ' 
I  smile  —  like  a  family  man  1 


THE    FAMILY   MAN.  229 

I  once  was  as  gay  as  a  templar, 

But  levity 's  now  under  ban  ; 
Young  people  must  have  an  exemplar, 

And  I  am  a  family  man  1 

The  club-men  I  meet  in  the  city 
All  treat  me  as  well  as  they  can ; 

And  only  exclaim,  *  What  a  pity 
Poor  Tom  is  a  family  man  1 ' 

I  own  I  am  getting  quite  pensive  ; 

Ten  children,  from  David  to  Dan, 
Is  a  family  rather  extensive ; 

But  then  —  I  'm  a  family  man  1 


NE  CKEDE  COLOKI: 

OK,   TRUST  NOT   TO   APPEARANCES. 

THE  musty  old  maxim  is  wise, 
Although  with  antiquity  hoary ; 

What  ah  excellent  homily  lies 
In  the  motto,  *  Ne  crede  colori  1 ' 

A  blustering  minion  of  Mars 
Is  vaunting  his  battles  so  gory; 

You  see  some  equivocal  scars, 
And  mutter,  Ne  crede  colori  I 

A  fellow  solicits  your  tin 
By  telling  a  runaway  story ; 

You  look  at  his  ebony  skin, 
And  think  of,  Ne  crede  colori ! 

You  gaze  upon  beauty  that  vies 
With  the  rose  and  the  lily  in  glory, 

But  certain  *  inscrutable  dyes ' 
Remind  you,  Ne  crede  colori ' 


NE   CREDE   COLORI.  231 

There 's  possibly  health  In  the  flush 

That  rivals  the  red  of  Aurora ; 
But  brandy-and-water  can  blush, 

And  whisper,  Ne  crede  colori! 

My  story  is  presently  done, 

Like  the  ballad  of  good  Mother  Morey; 
But  all  imposition  to  shun, 

Kemember,  Ne  crede  colori! 


CLARA  TO   CLOE. 


AN  EPISTLE   FROM  A   CITY  LADY  TO  A   COUNTRY  COUSIfl. 

DEAR  CLOE  :  —  I  'm  deeply  your  debtor, 

(Though  the  mail  was  uncommonly  slow,) 
For  the  very  agreeable  letter 

You  wrote  me  a  fortnight  ago. 
I  know  you  are  eagerly  waiting 

For  all  that  I  promised  to  write, 
But  my  pen  is  unequal  to  stating 

One  half  that  my  heart  would  indite. 

The  weather  is  terribly  torrid ; 

And  writing 's  a  serious  task ; 
The  new  style  of  bonnet  is  horrid ; 

And  so  is  the  new-fashioned  basque  ; 
The  former  —  but  language  would  fail 

Were  its  epithets  doubly  as  strong  — 
The  latter  is  worn  with  a  tail 

Very  ugly  and  tediously  long  1 

And  then  as  to  crinoline  —  Gracious ! 

If  you  only  could  see  Cousin  Ruth  — 
The  pictures,  for  once,  are  veracious, 

And  editors  utter  the  truth  ! 


CLARA   TO    CLOE.  233 

I  know  you  will  think  it  a  pity ; 

And  every  one  makes  such  a  sneer  of  it ; 
But  there  is  n't  a  saint  in  the  city 

Whose  skirts  are  entirely  clear  of  it  1 

And  then  what  a  fortune  of  stuff 

To  cover  the  skeleton  over !  — 
Charles  says  the  idea  is  enough 

To  frighten  a  sensible  lover ; 
And,  pretending  that  we  are  to  blame 

For  every  financial  declension, 
Swears  husbands  must  soon  do  the  same, 

If  wives  have  another  "  extension  1 " 

The  town  is  exceedingly  dull, 

And  so  is  the  latest  new  farce ; 
The  parks  are  uncommonly  full, 

But  beaux  are  deplorably  scarce ; 
They  're  gone  to  the  *  Springs f  and  the  '  Falls,' 

To  exhibit  their  greyhounds  and  graces, 
And  recruit  at,  —  what  Frederick  calls  — 

The  Brandy-and- Watering  Places  1 

Since  my  former  epistle,  which  carried 

The  news  of  that  curious  plot ; 
Of  Miss  S.  who  ran  off —  and  was  married ; 

Of  Miss  B.  who  ran  off —  and  was  not, — 
There  is  n't  a  whisper  of  scandal 

To  keep  gentle  ladies  in  humor, 
And  Gossip,  the  pleasant  old  vandal, 

Is  dying  for  want  of  a  rumor  1  CLARA. 


234  CLARA    TO    CLOE. 

P.  S.  —  But  was  n't  it  funny  ?  — 

Mrs.  Jones,  at  a  party  last  week, 
(The  lady  so  proud  of  her  money, 

Of  whom  you  have  oft  heard  me  speak,) 
Appeared  so  delightfully  stupid, 

When  she  spoke,  through  the  squeak  of  her 

phthisic. 
Of  the  statue  of  Psyche  and  Cupid 

As  « the  statute  of  Cuppid  and  Physic  I '   C. 


CLOE  TO   CLARA. 


A    SARATOGA   LETTER. 

DEAR  CLARA  :  —  I  wish  you  were  here : 

The  prettiest  spot  upon  earth  1 
With  everything  charming,  my  dear,  — 

Beaux,  badinage,  music,  and  mirth  I 
Such  rows  of  magnificent  trees, 

Overhanging  such  beautiful  walks, 
Where  lovers  may  stroll,  if  they  please, 

And  indulge  in  the  sweetest  of  talks  1 

We  go  every  morning,  like  geese, 

To  drink  at  the  favorite  Spring ; 
Six  tumblers  of  water  apiece, 

Is  simply  the  regular  thing ; 
For  such  is  its  wonderful  virtue, 

Though  rather  unpleasant  at  first, 
No  quantity  ever  can  hurt  you, 

Unless  you  should  happen  to  burst  1 

And  then,  what  a  gossiping  sight ! 

What  talk  about  William  and  Harry; 
How  Julia  was  spending  last  night ; 

And  why  Miss  Morton  should  marry  1 


236  CLOK   TO   CLARA. 

Dear  Clara,  I  Ve  happened  to  see 
Full  many  a  tea-table  slaughter ; 

But,  really,  scandal  with  tea 

Is  nothing  to  scandal  with  water ! 

Apropos  of  the  Spring  —  have  you  heard 

The  quiz  of  a  gentleman  here 
On  a  pompous  M.  C.  who  averred 

That  the  name  was  remarkably  queer  ? 
*  The  Spring,  —  to  keep  it  from  failing,  — 

With  wood  is  encompassed  about, 
And  derives,  from  its  permanent  railing, 

The  title  of  "  Congress,"  no  doubt  1 ' 

'T  is  pleasant  to  guess  at  the  reason  — 

The  genuine  motive  which  brings 
Such  all-sorts  of  folks,  in  the  season, 

To  stop  a  few  days  at  the  Springs. 
Some  come  to  partake  of  the  waters, 

(The  sensible,  old-faShloned  elves,) 
Some  come  to  dispose  of  their  daughters, 

And  some  to  dispose  of — themselves  I 

Some  come  to  exhibit  their  faces 

To  new  and  admiring  beholders ; 
Some  come  to  exhibit  their  graces, 

And  some  to  exhibit  their  shoulders ; 
Some  come  to  make  people  stare 

At  the  elegant  dresses  they  've  got ; 
Some  to  show  what  a  lady  may  wear, 

And  some  —  what  a  lady  should  not ! 


CLOE    TO    CLARA.  237 

Some  come  to  squander  their  treasure 

And  some  their  funds  to  improve ; 
And  some  for  mere  love  of  pleasure, 

And  some  for  the  pleasure  of  love  ; 
And  some  to  escape  from  the  old, 

And  some  to  see  what  is  new ; 
But  most  —  it  is  plain  to  be  told  — 

Come  here  —  because  other  folks  do  ! 

And  that,  I  suppose,  is  the  reason 

Why  /  am  enjoying,  to-day, 
What 's  called  *  the  height  —  of  the  season 

In  rather  the  loftiest  way. 
Good  by — for  now  I  must  stop  — 

To  Charley's  command  I  resign,  — 
So  I  'm  his  for  the  regular  hop, 

But  ever  most  tenderly  thine,  CLOE. 


WISHING. 

OF  all  amusements  for  the  mind, 

From  logic  down  to  fishing, 
There  is  n't  one  that  you  can  find 

So  very  cheap  as  '  wishing.' 
A  very  choice  diversion  too, 

If  we  but  rightly  use  it, 
And  not,  as  we  are  apt  to  do, 

Pervert  it,  and  abuse  it. 

I  wish  —  a  common  wish  indeed  — 

My  purse  were  s<5inewhat  fatter, 
That  I  might  cheer  the  child  of  need, 

And  not  my  pride  to  flatter ; 
That  I  might  make  Oppression  reel, 

As  only  gold  can  make  it, 
And  break  the  Tyrant's  rod  of  steel, 

As  only  gold  can  break  it. 

I  wish  —  that  Sympathy  and  Love, 
And  every  human  passion, 

That  has  its  origin  above, 

Would  come  and  keep  in  fashion ; 


239 


That  Scorn,  and  Jealousy,  and  Hate. 

And  every  base  emotion, 
Were  buried  fifty  fathom  deep 

Beneath  the  waves  of  Ocean  1 

I  wish  —  that  friends  were  always  true, 

And  motives  always  pure ; 
I  wish  the  good  were  not  so  few, 

I  wish  the  bad  were  fewer ; 
I  wish  that  parsons  ne'er  forgot 

To  heed  their  pious  teaching ; 
I  wish  that  practising  was  not 

So  different  from  preaching ! 

I  wish  —  that  modest  worth  might  be 

Appraised  with  truth  and  candor ; 
I  wish  that  innocence  were  free 

From  treachery  and  slander ; 
I  wish  that  men  their  vows  would  mind  ; 

That  women  ne'er  were  rovers ; 
I  wish  that  wives  were  always  kind, 

And  husbands  always  lovers  1 

I  wish  —  in  fine  —  that  Joy  and  Mirth, 

And  every  good  Ideal, 
May  come  ere  while,  throughout  the  earth, 

To  be  the  glorious  Real ; 
Till  God  shall  every  creature  bless 

With  his  supremest  blessing, 
And  Hope  be  lost  in  Happiness, 

And  Wishing  in  Possessing  ! 


RICHARD   OF   GLOSTER. 


A    TRAVESTIE. 

PERHAPS,  my  dear  boy,  you  may  never  have  heard 
Of  that  wicked  old  monarch,  KING  RICHARD  THE 

THIRD,  — 

Whose  actions  were  often  extremely  absurd ; 
And  who  led  such  a  sad  life, 
Such  a  wanton  and  mad  life  ; 
Indeed,  I  may  say,  such  a  wretchedly  bad  life,  • 
I  suppose  I  am  perfectly  safe  in  declaring, 
There  was  ne'er  such  a  monster  of  infamous  daring : 
In  all  sorts  of  crime  he  was  wholly  unsparing ; 
In  pride  and  ambition  was  quite  beyond  bearing ; 
And  had  a  bad  habit  of  cursing  and  swearing. 

I  must  own,  my  dear  boy,  I  have  more  than  sus- 
pected 

The  King's  education  was  rather  neglected  ; 
And  that  at  your  school  with  any  two  *  Dicks ' 
Whom  your  excellent  teacher  diurnally  pricks 
In  his  neat  little  tables,  in  order  to  fix 
Each  pupil's  progression  with  numeral  nicks, 
Master  RICHARD  Y.  GLOSTKR  would  often  have 

heard 
His  standing  recorded  as,  '  Richard  —  the  third  ! ' 


RICHARD    OF   GLOSTER.  211 

But  whatever  of  learning  his  Majesty  had, 

'T  is  clear  the  King's  English  was  shockingly  bad. 

At  the  slightest  pretence 

Of  disloyal  offence, 

His  anger  exceeded  all  reason  or  sense ; 
And,  having  no  need  to  foster  or  nurse  it,  he 
Would  open  his  wrath,  then,  as  if  to  disperse  it,  he 
Would  scatter  his  curses  like  College  degrees ; 

And,  quite  at  his  ease, 

Conferred  his  '  d-d's.' 
As  plenty  and  cheap  as  a  young  University ! 

And  yet  Richard's  tongue  was  remarkable  smooth ; 
Could  utter  a  lie  quite  as  easy  as  truth  ; 
(Another  bad  habit  he  got  in  his  youth  ;) 
And  had,  on  occasion,  a  powerful  battery 
Of  plausible  phrases  and  eloquent  flattery, 
Which  gave  him,  my  boy,  in  that  barbarous  day, 
(Things  are  different  now,  I  am  happy  to  say,) 
Over  feminine  hearts  a  most  perilous  sway. 
The  women,  in  spite  of  an  odious  hump 
Which  he  wore  on  his  back,  all  thought  him  a  trump : 
And  just  when  he  'd  played  them  the  scurviest  trick, 
They  'd  swear  in  their  hearts  that  this  crooked  old 

stick,  — 

This  treacherous,  dangerous,  dissolute  Dick, 
For  honor  and  virtue  beat  Cato  all  hollow ; 
And  in  figure  and  face  was  another  Apollo  ! 

He  murdered  their  brothers, 
And  fathers  and  mothers : 
11  p 


242  RICHARD    OF    GLOSTER. 

And,  worse  than  all  that,  he  slaughtered  by  dozens 
His  own  royal  uncles  and  nephews  and  cousins ; 
And  then,  in  the  cunningest  sort  of  orations, 

In  smooth  conversations, 

And  flattering  ovations, 
Made  love  to  the  principal  female  relations  ! 
'Twas  very  improper,  my  boy,  you  must  know, 
For  the  son  of  a  King  to  behave  himself  so ; 
And  you  '11  scarcely  believe  what  the  chronicles  show 

Of  his  wonderful  wooings, 

And  infamous  doings ; 
But  here 's  an  exploit  that  he  certainly  did  do  — 

Killed  his  own  cousin  NED, 

As  he  slept  in  his  bed, 
And  married,  next  day,  the  disconsolate  widow  1 

I  don't  understand  how  such  ogres  arise, 

But  beginning,  perhaps,  with  things  little  in  size, 

Such  as  torturing  beetles  and  bluebottle-flies, 

Or  scattering  snuff  in  a  "pOodle-dog's  eyes,  — 

King  Richard  had  grown  so  wantonly  cruel, 

He  minded  a  murder  no  more  than  a  duel ; 

He  'd  indulge,  on  the  slightest  pretence  or  occasion,! 

In  his  favorite  amusement  of  Decapitation, 

Until '  Off  with  his  head ! ' 

It  is  credibly  said, 

From  his  Majesty's  mouth  came  as  easy  and  pat     j 
As  from  an  old  constable,  '  Off  with  his  hat ! ' 

One  really  shivers, 
And  fairly  quivers, 


RICHARD   OF   GLOSTER.  243 

To  think  of  the  treatment  of  Grey,  and  Rivers, 

And  Hastings,  and  Vaughn,  and  other  good  livers, 

All  suddenly  sent,  at  the  tap  of  a  drum, 

From  the  Kingdom  of  England  to  Kingdom-Come  I 

Of  Buckingham  doomed  to  a  tragical  end 

For  being  the  tyrant's  particular  friend  ; 

Of  Clarence  who  died,  it  is  mournful  to  think, 

Of  wine  that  he  was  n't  permitted  to  drink ! 

And  the  beautiful  babies  of  royal  blood, 

Two  little  White  Roses  both  nipt  in  the  bud ! 

And  silly  Queen  Anne  — .what  sorrow  it  cost  her 

(And  served  her  right !)  for  daring  to^bster 

The  impudent  suit  of  this  Richard  of  Gloster ; 

Who,  instead  of  conferring  a  royal  gratuity, 

A  dower,  or  even  a  decent  Anne-uity, 

Just  gave  her  a  portion  of —  something  or  other 

That  made  her  as  quiet  as  Pharaoh's  mother ! 

Ah,  Richard !  —  you  're  going  it  quite  too  fast ; 
Your  doom  is  slow,  but  it 's  coming  at  last ; 

Your  bloody  crown 

Will  topple  down, 
And  you  '11  be  done  uncommonly  brown  ! 

Your  foes  are  thick, 

My  daring  Dick, 

And  RICHMOND,  a  prince  and  a  regular  brick, 
Is  after  you  now  with  a  very  sharp  stick ! 

On  Bosworth  field  the  armies  to-night 

Are  pitching  their  tents  in  each  other's  sight ; 

And  to-morrow !  —  to-morrow  I  —  they  're  going  to 

fight  ! 


244  RICHARD    OF    GLOSTER. 

And  now  King  Richard  lias  gone  to  bed ; 

But  e'en  in  his  sleep 

He  cannot  keep 
The  past  or  the  future  out  of  his  head. 

In  his  deep  remorse, 

Each  mangled  corse 

Of  all  he  had  slam,  —  or,  what  was  worse, 
Their  ghosts,  —  came  up  in  terrible  force, 
And  greeted  his  ear  with  unpleasant  discourse, 

Until,  with  a  scream, 

He  woke  from  his  dream, 
And  shouted  aloud  for  '  another  horse  ! ' 

Perhaps  you  may  think,  my  little  dear, 

King  Richard's  request  was  rather  queer ; 

But  I'll  presently  make  it  exceedingly  clear:  — 

THE    ROYAL    SLEEPER   WAS    OVERFED. 

I  mean  to  say  that,  against  his  habit, 

He  'd  eaten  Welsh-rabbit 
With  very  bad  whisky  on  'going  to  bed. 
I  've  had  the  Night-Mare  with  horrible  force, 
And  much  prefer  a  different  horse ! 

But  see  !  the  murky  night  is  gone  ! 
The  Morn  is  up,  and  the  Fight  is  on ! 
The  Knights  are  engaging,  the  warfare  is  waging, 
On  the  right  —  on  the  left,  the  battle  is  raging ; 
King  Richard  is  down ! 
Will  he  save  his  crown  ? 
There  's  a  crack  in  it  now  !  —  he 's  beginning  to 

bleed ! 
Aha  1  King  Richard  has  lost  his  steed  ! 


RICHARt)    OF    GLOSTER.  245 

(At  a  moment  like  this  't  is  a  terrible  need !) 

He  shouts  aloud  with  thundering  force, 

And  offers  a  very  high  price  for  a  horse, 

But  it 's  all  in  vain  —  the  battle  is  done  — 

The  day  is  lost !  —  and  the  day  is  won !  — 

And  RICHMOND  is  King !  and  RICHARD'S  a  corse  I 

MORAL. 

Remember,  my  boy,  that  moral  enormities 
Are  apt  to  attend  corporeal  deformities. 
Whatever  you  have,  or  whatever  you  lack, 
Beware  of  getting  a  crook  in  your  back; 
And,  while  you  're  about  it,  I  'd  very  much  rather 
You  'd  grow  tall  and  superb,  i.  e.  copy  your  father  1 

Don't  learn  to  be  cruel,  pray  let  me  advise, 
By  torturing  beetles  and  bluebottle-flies, 
Or  scattering  snuff  in  a  poodle-dog's  eyes. 

If  you  ever  should  marry,  remember  to  wed 
A  handsome,  plump,  modest,  sweet-spoken,  well- 
bred, 

And  sensible  maiden  of  twenty  —  instead 
Of  a  widow  whose  husband  is  recently  dead  ! 
If  you  'd  shun  in  your  naps  those  horrible  Incubi, 
Beware  what  you  eat,  and  be  careful  what  drink 

you  buy ; 

Or  else  you  may  see,  in  your  sleep's  perturbations 
Some  old  and  uncommonly  ugly  relations, 
Who  '11  be  very  apt  to  disturb  your  nutations 
By  unpleasant  allusions,  and  rude  observations  I 


HO-HO  OF  THE  GOLDEN  BELT. 

ONE    OF   THE    "NINE    STORIES    OF    CHINA," 
VERSIFIED   AND   DIVERSIFIED. 

A  BEAUTIFUL  maiden  was  little  MiN-NE, 
Eldest  daughter  of  wise  WANG-RE  ; 
Her  skin  had  the  color  of  saffron  tea, 
And  her  nose  was  flat  as  flat  could  be ; 
And  never  were  seen  such  beautiful  eyes, 
Two  almond-kernels  in  shape  and  size, 
Set  in  a  couple  of  slanting  gashes, 
And  not  in  the  least  disfigured  by  lashes ; 

And  then  such  feet  1 

You  M  scarcely  meet 
In  the  longest  ,walk  through  the  grandest  street, 

(And  you  might  go  seeking 

From  Nanking  to  Peeking,) 
A  pair  so  remarkably  small  and  neat ! 

Two  little  stumps, 

Mere  pedal  lumps, 

Thnt  toddle  along  with  the  funniest  thumps, 
In  China,  you  know,  are  reckoned  trumps. 


HO-HO    OF    THE   GOLDEN    BELT.  247 

The  rank  of  the  owner  they  instantly  show  forth, 
By  the  classical  rule,  '  expede'  and  so  forth. 
It  seeins  a  trifle,  to  make  such  a  boast  of  it ; 

But  how  they  will  dress  it, 

And  bandage  and  press  it,' 
By  making  the  least,  to  make  the  most  of  it ! 

As  you  may  suppose, 

She  had  plenty  of  beaux 
Bowing  around  her  beautiful  toes, 
Praising  her  feet,  and  eyes,  and  nose, 
In  rapturous  verse  and  elegant  prose  ! 
She  had  lots  of  lovers,  old  and  young ; 
There  was  lofty  LONG,  and  babbling  LUNG, 
Opulent  TIN,  and  eloquent  TUNG, 
Musical  SING,  and,  the  rest  among, 
Great  ILvNG-Yu  and  Yu-BE-HuNG. 

But  though  they  smiled  and  smirked  and  bowed, 

None  could  please  her  of  all  the  crowd ; 

LUNG  and  TUNG  she  thought  too  loud ; 

Opulent  TIN  was  much  too  proud ; 

Lofty  LONG  was  quite  too  tall ; 

Musical  SING  sung  very  small ; 

And,  most  remarkable  freak  of  all, 

Of  great  HANG-YU  the  lady  made  game, 

And  YU-BE-HUNG  she  mocked  the  same, 

By  echoing  back  his  ugly  name  I 

But  the  hardest  heart  is  doomed  to  melt ; 

Love  is  a  passion  that  will  be  felt ; 


248  IIO-'IO    OF    THE    GOLDEN   BELT. 

And  just  wlieii  scandal  was  making  free 

To  hint '  what  a  pretty  old  maid  she  'd  be '  — 

Little  MIN-NE, 

(Who  but  she?) 

Married  Ho-Ho  of  the  Golden  Belt! 
A  man,  I  must  own,  of  bad  reputation, 
And  low  in  purse,  though  high  in  station  — 
A  sort  of  Imperial  poor-relation 
Who  ranked  as  the  Emperor's  second  cousin, 
Multiplied  by  a  hundred  dozen ; 
And,  to  mark  the  love  the  Emperor  felt, 

Had  a  pension  clear 

Of  three  pounds  a-year, 
And  the  honor  of  wearing  a  Golden  Belt ! 

And  gallant  Ho-Ho 

Could  really  show 
A  handsome  face,  as  faces  go 
In  the  Flowery  Land  where,  you  must  know, 
The  finest  pinks  of  beauty  grow. 
He  'd  the  very  widest  kincT  of  jaws, 
And  his  nails  were  like  an  eagle's  claws, 
And  —  though  it  may  seem  a  wondrous  tail  — 
(Truth  is  mighty  and  will  prevail !) 
He  'd  a  queue  as  long  as  the  deepest  cause 
Under  the  Emperor's  chancery  laws  ! 

Yet  how  he  managed  to  win  MiN-Ns, 
The  men  declared  they  could  n't  see ; 
But  all  the  ladies,  over  their  tea, 
In  this  one  point  were  known  to  agree  :  — 
Four  gifts  were  sent  to  aid  his  plea : 


nO-HO    OF    THE   GOLDEX    BELT.  249 

A  smoking-pipe  with  a  golden  clog, 
A  box  of  tea  and  a  poodle  dog, 
And  a  painted  heart  that  was  all  a-flame, 
And  bore,  in  blood,  the  lover's  name. 

Ah  !  how  could  presents  pretty  as  these 
A  delicate  lady  fail  to  please  ? 
She  smoked  the  pipe  with  the  golden  clog, 
And  drank  the  tea,  and  ate  the  dog, 
And  kept  the  heart,  —  and  that 's  the  way 
The  match  was  made,  the  gossips  say. 

I  can't  describe  the  wedding  day, 
Which  fell  in  the  lovely  month  of  May ; 
Nor  stop  to  tell  of  the  Honey-Moon, 
And  how  it  vanished  all  too  soon ; 
Alas !  that  I  the  truth  must  speak, 
And  say,  that  in  the  fourteenth  week, 
Soon  as  the  wedding-guests  were  gone, 

And  their  wedding-suits  began  to  doff, 
MiN-NE  was  weeping  and  '  taking  on,' 

For  he  had  been  trying  to  *  take  her  off! f 
Six  wives  before  he  had  sent  to  Heaven, 
And  being  partial  to  number  '  Seven,' 
He  wished  to  add  his  latest  pet, 
Just,  perhaps,  to  make  up  the  set. 
Mayhap  the  rascal  found  a  cause 
Of  discontent  in  a  certain  clause 
In  the  Emperor's  very  liberal  laws, 
Which  gives,  when  a  Golden  Belt  is  wed, 
Six  hundred  pounds  to  furnish  the  bed  ; 
11* 


250  HO-HO    OF    THE    GOLDEX   BELT. 

And  if,  in  turn,  he  many  a  score, 
With  every  wife  six  hundred  more. 

First  he  tried  to  murder  Mix-NE 
With  a  special  cup  of  poisoned  tea ; 
But  the  lady,  smelling  a  mortal  foe, 

Cried  <  Ho-Ho!  — 
I  'in  very  fond  of  mild  Souchong, 
But  you  —  my  love  —  you  make  it  too  strong  ! ' 

At  last  Ho-Ho,  the  treacherous  man, 
Contrived  the  most  infernal  plan 
Invented  since  the  world  began  : 
He  went  and  got  him  a  savage  dog, 
Who  'd  eat  a  woman  as  soon  as  a  frog, 
Kept  him  a  day  without  any  prog, 
Then  shut  him  up  in  an  iron  bin, 
Slipped  the  bolt,  and  locked  him  in ; 

Then  giving  the  key 

To  poor  MiN-Ns^ 

Said,  '  Love,  there 's  something  you  must  n't  see 
In  the  chest  beneath  the  orange-tree.' 

*  *  #  *  # 

Poor,  mangled  MiN-NE !  with  her  latest  breath, 
She  told  her  father  the  cause  of  her  death ; 
And  so  it  reached  the  Emperor's  ear, 
And  his  Highness  said,  '  It  is  very  clear, 
Ho-Ho  has  committed  a  murder  here ! ' 

And  he  doomed  Ho-Ho  to  end  his  life 
By  the  terrible  dog  that  killed  his  wife ; 


HO-HO    OF    THE    GOLDEN   BELT.  251 

But  in  mercy  (let  his  praise  be  sung  !) 
His  thirteen  brothers  were  merely  hung, 
And  his  slaves  bambooed,  in  the  mildest  way, 
For  a  calendar  month,  three  times  a  day ; 
And  that 's  the  way  that  JUSTICE  dealt 
With  wicked  Ho-Ho  of  the  Golden  Belt ! 


TOM  BROWN'S  DAY  IN  GOTHAM. 

Qui  mores  hominum  mvltorum  vidit  et  URBEM. 

I  'LI,  tell  you  a  story  of  THOMAS  BROWN  — 
1  don't  mean  the  poet  of  Shropshire  town ; 
Nor  the  Scotch  Professor  of  wide  renown ; 
But '  Honest  Tom  Brown ; '  so  called,  no  doubt, 

Because  with  the  same 

Identical  name, 

A  good  many  fellows  werejroving  about 
Of  whom  the  sheriff  might  prudently  swear 
That '  honest '  with  them,  was  a  non-est  affair  1 

Now  Tom  was  a  Yankee  of  wealth  and  worth, 
Who  lived  and  throve  by  tilling  the  Earth ; 

For  Tom  had  wrought 

As  a  farmer  ought, 

Who,  doomed  to  toil  by  original  sinning, 
Began  —  like  Adam  —  at  the  beginning. 
J  le  ploughed,  he  harrowed,  and  he  sowed ; 
He  dnlled,  he  planted,  and  he  hoed  ; 
He  dug  and  delved,  and  reaped  and  mowed. 


TOM  BROWN'S  DAY  IN  GOTHAM.         25° 

(I  wish  I  could  —  but  I  can't  —  tell  now 
Whether  he  used  a  subsoil-plough  ; 
Or  whether,  in  sooth,  he  had  ever  seen 
A  regular  reaping  and  raking  machine.) 

He  took  most  pains 

With  the  nobler  grains 
Of  higher  value,  and  finer  tissues 

Which,  possibly,  one 

Inclined  to  a  pun, 

Would  call  —  like  Harper  —  his  *  cereal  issues ! ' 
With  wheat  his  lands  were  all  a-blaze  ; 
'T  was  amazing  to  look  at  his  fields  of  maize  ; 

And  there  were  places 

That  showed  rye-faces 
As  pleasant  to  see  as  so  many  Graces. 

And  as  for  Hops, 

His  annual  crops, 

(So  very  extensive  that,  on  my  soul, 
They  fairly  reached  from  pole  to  pole  !) 
Would  beat  the  guess  of  any  old  fogie, 
Or  —  the  longest  season  at  Saratoga ! 
Whatever  seed  did  most  abound, 
In  the  grand  result  that  Autumn  found, 

It  was  his  plan, 

Though  a  moderate  man, 
To  be  early  running  it  into  the  ground  ; 

That  is  to  say, 

In  another  way  :  — 
Whether  the  seed  was  barley  or  hay, 
Large  or  little,  or  green  or  gray,  — 
Provided  only  it  promised  to  '  pay,'  — 


254         TOM  BROWN'S  DAY  IN  GOTHAM. 

He  never  chose  to  labor  in  vain 
By  stupidly  going  against  the  grain, 
But  hastened  away,  without  stay  or  stop, 
And  carefully  put  it  into  his  crop. 

And  he  raised  tomatoes 

A.nd  lots  of  potatoes, 
More  sorts,  in  sooth,  than  I  could  tell ; 
Turnips,  that  always  turned  up  well ; 
Celery,  all  that  he  could  sell ; 
Grapes  by  the  bushel,  sour  and  sweet ; 
Beets,  that  certainly  could  n't  be  beat ; 
Cabbage  —  like  some  sartorial  mound ; 
Vines,  that  fairly  cw-cumbered  the  ground ; 
Some  pumpkins  —  more  than  he  could  house,  and 
Ten  thousand  pears ;  (that 's  twenty  thousand !) 
Fruit  of  all  kinds  and  propagations, 
Baldwins,  Pippins,  and  Carnations, 
And  apples  of  other  appellations. 
To  sum  it  all  up  in  the  briefest  space, 
As  you  may  suppose,  Brown  flourished  apace, 
Just  because  he  proceeded,  I  venture  to  say, 
In  the  nuHa-retrorsum-vestigi-ous  way ; 
That  is  —  if  you  're  not  University -bred  — 
He  took  Crocket's  advice  about  going  ahead. 
At  all  the  State  Fairs  he  held  a  fair  station, 
Raised  horses  and  cows  and  his  own  reputation ; 
Made  butter  and  money ;  took  a  Justice's  niche ; 
Grew  wheat,  wool,  and  hemp  'T  corn,  cattle,  and  — 

rich! 
But  who  would  be  always  a  country-clown  ? 

And  so  Tom  Brown 

Sat  himself  down 


TOM  BKOWN'S  DAY  IN  GOTHAM.         255 

And,  knitting  his  brow  in  a  studious  frown, 

He  said,  says  he :  — 

It 's  plain  to  see, 

And  I  think  Mrs.  B.  will  be  apt  to  agree, 
(If  she  don't,  it 's  much  the  same  to  ine,)     v 

That  I,  TOM  BROWN, 

Should  go  to  town ! 

But  then,  says  he,  what  town  shall  it  be  ? 
Boston-town  is  consid'rably  nearer, 
And  York  is  farther,  and  so  will  be  dearer, 
But  then,  of  course,  the  sights  will  be  queerer ; 
Besides,  I  'm  told,  you  're  surely  a  lost  'un, 
If  you  once  get  astray  in  the  streets  of  Boston. 

York  is  right-angled ; 

And  Boston,  right-tangled ; 

And  both,  I've  no  doubt,  are   uncommon   new- 
fangled. 

Ah !  —  the  *  SMITHS,'  I  remember,  belong  to  York, 
('T  was  ten  years  ago  I  sold  them  my  pork,) 
Good,  honest  traders  —  I  'd  like  to  know  them  — 
And  so  —  't  is  settled  —  I  '11  go  to  Gotham ! 

And  so  Tom  Brown 

Sat  himself  down, 

With  many  a  smile  and  never  a  frown, 
And  rode,  by  rail,  to  that  notable  town 
Which  I  really  think  well  worthy  of  mention 
As  being  America's  greatest  invention ! 
Indeed,  I  '11  be  bound  that  if  Nature  and  Art, 
(Though  the  former,  being  older,  has  gotten  the 
start,) 


256  TOM    BROWN'S    DAY   IN   GOTIIAM. 

In  some  new  Crystal  Palace  of  suitable  size 
Should  show  their  chefs-d'oeuvre,  and  contend  for 

the  prize, 

The  latter  would  prove,  when  it  came  to  the  scratch, 
Whate'er  you  may  think,  no  contemptible  match ; 
For  should  old  Mrs.  Nature  endeavor  to  stagger  her 
By  presenting,  at  last,  her  majestic  Niagara ; 
Miss  Art  would  produce  an  equivalent  work 
In  her  great,  overwhelming,  unfinished  NEW  YORK  ! 

And  now  Mr.  Brown 

Was  fairly  in  town, 

In  that  part  of  the  city  they  used  to  call '  down,' 
Not  far  from  the  spot  of  ancient  renown 

As  being  the  scene 

Of  the  Bowling  Green, 
A  fountain  that  looked  like  a  huge  tureen 
Piled  up  with  rocks,  and  a  squirt  between ; 
But  the  '  Bowling '  now  has  gone  where  they  tally 
'  The  Fall  of  the  Ten,'  in  a-  neighboring  alley ; 
And  as  to  the  '  Green  ' —  why,  that  you  will  find 
Whenever  you  see  the  '  invisible  '  kind !  — 
And  he  stopped  at  an  Inn  that 's  known  very  well, 
*  Delmonico's '  once  —  now  '  Stevens-Hotel ' ; 
(And,  to  venture  a  pun  which  I  think  rather  witty, 
There 's  no  better  Inn  in  this  Inn-famous  city !) 

And  Mr.  Brown 

Strolled  up  town, 

And  I  'm  going  to  write  his  travels  clown  ; 
But  if  you  suppose  Tom  Brown  will  disclose 


TOM  BROWN'S  DAY  IN  GOTHAM.         257 

The  usual  sins  and  follies  of  those 
Who  leave  rural  regions  to  see  city-shows  — 
t      You  could  n't  well  make 

A  greater  mistake ; 

For  Brown  was  a  man  of  excellent  sense ; 
Could  see  very  well  through  a  hole  in  a  fence, 
And  was  honest  and  plain,  without  sham  or  pre- 
tence ; 

Of  sharp,  city-learning  he  could  n't  have  boasted, 
But  he  was  n't  the  chap  to  be  easily  roasted. 

And  here  let  me  say, 
In  a  very  dogmatic,  oracular  way, 
(And  I'll  prove  it,  before  I  have  done  with  my 

lay,) 

Not  only  that  honesty 's  likely  to  *  pay/ 
But  that  one  must  be,  as  a  general  rule, 
At  least  half  a  knave  to  be  wholly  a  fool ! 

Of  pocketbook-dropping,  Tom  never  had  heard, 
(Or  at  least  if  he  had,  he  'd  forgotten  the  word,) 
And  now  when,  at  length,  the  occasion  occurred, 
For  that  sort  of  chaff  he  was  n't  the  bird. 
The  gentleman  argued  with  eloquent  force, 
And  begged  him  to  pocket  the  money,  of  course  ; 
But  Brown,  without  thinking  at  all  what  he  said, 
Popped  out  the  first  thing  that  entered  his  head, 
(Which  chanced  to  be  wondrously  fitting  and  true,) 
*  No  —  no  —  my  dear  Sir  —  I  '11  be  burnt  if  I  do  ! ' 
Two  lively  young  fellows,  of  elegant  mien, 
Amused  him  awhile  with  a  pretty  machine  — 
An  ivory  ball,  which  he  never  had  seen. 
Q 


2.38  TOM    BROWN'S    DAY   IN    GOTHAM. 

But  though  the  unsuspecting  stranger 
In  the  *  patent  safe '  saw  uo  patent  danger, 
He  easily  dodged  the  nefarious  net, 
Because  '  he  was  n't  accustomed  to  bet.' 

Ah  !  —  here,  I  wot, 

Is  exactly  the  spot 

To  make  a  small  fortune  as  easy  as  not ! 
That  man  with  the  watch  —  what  lungs  he  has  got ! 
It 's  '  Going  —  the  best  of  that  elegant  lot  — 
To  close  a  concern,  at  a  desperate  rate,  — 
The  jeweller  ruined  as  certain  as  fate !  — 
A  capital  watch !  —  you  may  see  by  the  weight  — 
Worth  one  hundred  dollars  as  easy  as  eight  — 
Or  half  of  that  sum  to  melt  down  into  plate  — 
(Brown  does  n't  know  'Peter'    from  Peter  the 
Great) 

But  then  I  can't  dwell, 

I  'm  ordered  to  sell, 

And  mus'n't  stand  weeping  —just  look  at  the  shell  —  1 
I  warrant  the  ticker  to  operate  well  — 
Nine  dollars  I  —  it 's  hard  to  be  selling  it  under 
A  couple  of  fifties  —  it 's  cruel,  by  Thunder ! 
Ten  dollars  !  —  I  'm  offered  —  the  man  who  secures  j 
This  splended  —  ten  dollars !  —  say  twelve,  and  it 's 

yours ! ' 
'  Don't  want  it '  —  quoth  Brown  — '  I  don't  wish  to 

buy; 

Fifty  dollars,  I  'm  sure,  one  could  n't  call  high  — 
But  to  see  the  man  ruined  I  —  Dear  Sir,  I  declare  — 
Between  two  or  three  bidders,  it  does  n't  seem  fair ; 


TOM    BROWN  3    DAY    IN    GOTHAM.  259 

To  knock  it  off  now  were  surely  a  sin ; 

Just  wait,  my  dear  Sir,  till  the  people  come  in ! 

Allow  me  to  say,  you  disgrace  your  position 

As  Sheriff —  consid'ring  the  debtor's  condition  — 

To  sell  such  a  watch  without  more  competition  ! ' 

And  here  Mr.  Brown 

Gave  a  very  black  frown, 

Stepped  leisurely  out,  and  walked  farther  up  town. 
To  see  him  stray  along  Broadway 
In  the  afternoon  of  a  summer's  day, 
And  note  what  he  chanced  to  see  and  say ;     . 

And  what  people  he  meets 

In  the  narrower  streets, 
Were  a  pregnant  theme  for  a  longer  lay.    - 
How  he  marvelled  at  those  geological  chaps 
Who  go  poking  about  in  crannies  and  gaps, 
Those  curious  people  in  tattered  breeches, 
The  rag-wearing,  rag-picking  sons  of —  ditches, 
Who  find  in  the  very  nastiest  niches 
A  '  decent  living,'  and  sometimes  riches ; 
How  he  thought  city  prices  exceedingly  queer, 
The  'busses  too  cheap,  and  the  hacks  too  dear ; 
How  he  stuck  in  the  mud,  and  got  lost  in  the  ques- 
tion — 

A  problem  too  hard  for  his  mental  digestion  — 
Why  —  in  cleaning  the  city,  the  city  employs 
Such  a  very  small  corps  of  such  very  small  boys ; 
How  he  judges  by  dress,  and  accordingly  makes, 
By  mixing  up  classes,  the  drollest  mistakes. 
How  —  as  if  simple  vanity  ever  were  vicious, 
Or  women  of  merit  could  be  meretricious,  — 


260  TOM   BROWN'S   DAY   IX   GOTHAM. 

He  imagines  the  dashing  Fifth- Avenue  daines 
The  same  as  the  girls  with  unspeakable  names ! 
An  exceedingly  natural  blunder  in  sooth, 
But,  I  'm  happy  to  say,  very  far  from  the  truth ; 
For  e'en  at  the  worst,  whate'er  you  suppose, 
The  one  sort  of  ladies  can  choose  their  beaux, 
While,  as  to  the  other  —  but  every  one  knows 
What  —  if 't  were  a  secret  —  I  would  n't  disclose. 

And  Mr.  Brown 

Returned  from  town, 

With  a  bran  new  hat,  and  a  muslin  gown, 
And  he  told  the  tale,  when  the  sun  was  down, 
How  he  spent  his  eagles,  and  saved  his  crown  ; 
How  he  showed  his  pluck  by  resisting  the  claim 
Of  an  impudent  fellow  who  asked  his  name ; 
But  paid  —  as  a  gentleman  ever  is  willing  — 
At  the  old  Park-Gate,  the  regular  shilling  1 


POST-PRANDIAL  VERSES. 

RECITED  AT   THE  FESTIVAL  OP   THE  PSI  UPSILON 
FRATERNITY,   IN   BOSTON,   JULY  21,    1863. 

DEAR  Brothers,  who  sit  at  this  bountiful  board, 

With  excellent  viands  so  lavishly  stored, 

That,  in  newspaper  phrase,  't  would  undoubtedly 

groan, 

If  groaning  were  but  a  convival  tone, 
Which  it  is  n't  —  and  therefore,  by  sympathy  led, 
The  table,  no  doubt,  is  rejoicing  instead. 
Dear  Brothers,  I  rise,  —  and  it  won't  be  surprising 
If  you  find   me,  like   bread,   all  the   better  for 

rising,  — 

I  rise  to  express  my  exceeding  delight 
In  our  cordial  reunion  this  glorious  night  I 

Success  to  *  PSI  UPSILON  ! '  —  Beautiful  name !  — 
To  the  eye  and  the  ear  it  is  pleasant  the  same ; 
Many  thanks  to  old   Cadmus  who  made  us  his 

debtors, 
By  inventing,  one  day,  those  capital  letters 


262  POST-PRANDIAL    VERSES. 

Which  still,  from  the  heart,  we  shall  know  how  to 

speak 
When  we  've  fairly  forgotten  the  rest  of  our  Greek  1 

To  be  open  and  honest  in  all  that  you  do ; 

To  every  high  trust  to  be  faithful  and  true ; 

In  aught  that  concerns  morality's  scheme, 

To  be  more  ambitious  to  be  than  to  seem ; 

To  cultivate  honor  as  higher  in  worth 

Than  favor  of  fortune,  or  genius,  or  birth  ; 

By  every  endeavor  to  render  your  lives 

As  spotless  and  fair  as  your  —  possible  wives ; 

To  treat  with  respect  all  the  innocent  rules 

That  keep  us  at  peace  with  society's  fools ; 

But  to  face  every  canon  that  e'er  was  designed 

To  batter  a  town  or  beleaguer  a  mind, 

Ere  you  yield  to  the  Moloch  that  Fashion  has  reared 

One  jot  of  your  freedom,  or  hah*  of  your  beard,  — 

All  this,  and  much  more,  I  might  venture  to  teach, 

Had  I  only  a  4  call '  —  and^ar  *  license  to  preach '  — 

But  since  I  have  not,  to  my  modesty  true, 

I  '11  lay  it  all  by —  as  a  layman  should  do  — 

And  drop  a  few  lines,  tipt  with  Momus's  flies, 

To  angle  for  shiners  —  that  lurk  in  your  eyes ! 

May  you  ne'er  get  in  love  or  in  debt  with  a  doubt 

As  to  whether  or  no  you  will  ever  get  out ; 

May  you  ne'er  have   a  mistress  who  plays  the 

coquette, 

Or  a  neighbor  who  blows  on  a  cracked  clarionet ; 
May  you  learn  the  first  use  of  a  lock  on  your  door, 
And  ne'er,  like  Adonis,  be  killed  by  a  bore ; 


POST-PRANDIAL   VERSES.  263 

Shun  canting  and  canters  with  resolute  force, 
(A  '  canter '  is  shocking,  except  in  a  horse ;) 
At  jovial  parties  mind  what  you  are  at, 
Beware  of  your  head  and  take  care  of  your  hat, 
Lest  you  find  that  a  favorite  son  of  your  mother 
Has  a  brick  in  the  one  and  an  ache  in  the  other ; 
May  you  never,  I  pray,  to  worry  your  life, 
Have  a  weak-minded  friend,  or  a  strong-minded 

wife; 

A  tailor  distrustful,  or  partner  suspicious ; 
A  dog  that  is  rabid,  or  nag  that  is  vicious ; 
Above  all  —  the  chief  blessing   the  gods  can  im- 
part— 

May  you  keep  a  clear  head  and  a  generous  heart ; 
Remember  't  is  blessed  to  give  and  forgive ; 
Live  chiefly  to  love,  and  love  while  you  live ; 
And  dying,  when  life's  little  journey  is  done, 
May  your  last,  fondest  sigh,  be  Psi  UPSILON  1 


LINES  ON  MY  THIKTY-NINTH  BIRTHDAY. 

An  me !  —  the  moments  will  not  stay ! 
Another  year  has  rolled  away ; 
And  June  (the  second)  scores  the  line 
That  tells  me  I  am  Thirty-nine ! 

As  thus  I  haste  the  mile-stones  by, 
I  mark  the  numbers  with  a  sigh ; 
And  yet 't  is  idle  to  repine 
I  Ve  come  so  soon  to  Thirty-nine  ! 

O,  few  that  roam  tliis  world  of  ours, 
To  feel  its  thorns  ancl  pluck  its  flowers, 
Have  trod  a  brighter  path  than  mine 
From  blithe  thirteen  to  Thirty-nine  1 

Health,  home,  and  friends,  (life's  solid  part.) 
A  merry  laugh,  a  fresh,  young  heart, 
Poetic  dreams,  and  love  divine  — 
Have  I  not  these  at  Thirty-nine  ? 

O  Time  !  —  forego  thy  wonted  spite, 
And  lay  thy  future  lashes  light, 
And,  trust  me,  I  will  not  repine 
At  twice  the  count  of  Thirty-nine  1 


SOXNET  TO . 

THINE  is  an  ever-changing  beauty ;  now 
With  that  proud  look,  so  lofty  yet  serene 
In  its  high  majesty,  thou  seem'st  a  queen, 

With  all  her  diamonds  blazing  on  her  brow  ! 

Anon  I  see,  —  as  gentler  thoughts  arise 

And  mould  thy  features  hi  their  sweet  control,  — 
The  pure,  white  ray  that  lights  a  maiden's  soul, 

And  struggles  outward  through  her  drooping  eyes ; 

Anon  they  flash ;  and  now  a  golden  light 

Bursts  o'er  thy  beauty,  like  the  Orient's  glow. 
Bathing  thy  shoulders'  and  thy  bosom's  snow, 

And  all  the  woman  beams  upon  my  sight  I 
I  kneel  unto  the  queen,  like  knight  of  yore ; 
The  maid  I  love ;  the  woman  I  adore  1 


12 


THE   COCKNEY. 

IT  was  in  my  foreign  travel, 

At  a  famous  Flemish  inn, 
That  I  met  a  stoutish  person 

With  a  very  ruddy  skin ; 
And  his  hair  was  something  sandy, 

And  was  done  in  knotty  curls, 
And  was  parted  in  the  middle, 

In  the  manner  of  a  girl's. 

He  was  clad  in  checkered  trousers, 

And  his  coat  was  of  "a  sort 
To  suggest  a  scanty  pattern, 

It  was  bobbed  so  very  short ; 
And  his  cap  was  very  little, 

Such  as  soldiers  often  use ; 
And  he  wore  a  pair  of  gaiters, 

And  extremely  heavy  shoes. 

I  addressed  the  man  in  English, 
And  he  answered  in  the  same, 

Though  he  spoke  it  in  a  fashion 
That  I  thought  a  little  lame ; 


THE    COCKXEY.  267 

For  the  aspirate  was  missing 

Where  the  letter  should  have  been, 

But  where'er  it  was  n't  wanted, 
He  was  sure  to  put  it  in ! 

When  I  spoke  with  admiration 

Of  St.  Peter's  mighty  dome, 
He  remarked :  *  'T  is  really  nothing 

To  the  sights  we  'ave  at  'ome  1 ' 
And  declared  upon  his  honor,  — 

Though,  of  course,  't  was  very  queer.  — 
That  he  doubted  if  the  Romans  ' 

'Ad  the  Aart  of  making  beer  1 

When  I  named  the  Colosseum, 

He  observed,  '  'T  is  very  fair ; 
I  mean,  ye  know,  it  would  be, 

If  they  'd  put  it  in  repair; 
But  what  progress  or  ^improvement 

Can  those  curst  .fiTitalians  'ope 
While  they  're  Aunder  the  dominion 

Of  that  blasted  muff,  the  Pope  ? ' 

Then  we  talked  of  other  countries, 

And  he  said  that  he  had  heard 
That  #americans  spoke  .Hmglish, 

But  he  deemed  it  quite  ^absurd ; 
Yet  he  felt  the  deepest  ^interest 

In  the  missionary  work, 
And  would  like  to  know  if  Georgia 

Was  in  Boston  or  New  York  ! 


268  THE    COCKNEY. 

When  I  left  the  man-in-gaiters, 

He  was  grumbling,  o'er  his  gin, 
At  the  charges  of  the  hostess 

Of  that  famous  Flemish  inn ; 
And  he  looked  a  very  Briton, 

(So,  methinks,  I  see  him  still) 
As  he  pocketed  the  candle 

That  was  mentioned  in  the  bill ! 


LOVE'S  CALENDAR. 


TO    AN   ABSENT    WIFE. 

0,  SINCE  't  is  decreed  by  the  envious  Fates, 

All  deaf  to  the  clamoring  heart,' 
That  the  truest  and  fondest  of  conjugal  mates 

Shall  often  be  sighing  apart ; 

Since  the  Days  of  our  absence  are  many  and  sad, 
And  the  Hours  of  our  meeting  are  few ; 

Ah !  what  in  a  case  so  exceedingly  bad, 
Can  the  deepest  philosophy  do  ? 

Pray  what  can  we  do  —  unfortunate  elves, 

Unconscious  of  folly  or  crime  — 
But  make  a  new  Calendar  up  for  ourselves, 

For  the  better  appraisal  of  tune  ? 

And  the  Hours  alone  shall  the  Calendar  fill, 
(While  Blanks  show  their  distance  apart,) 

Just  sufficiently  near  to  keep  oft"  the  chill 
That  else  might  be  freezing  the  heart ; 


270  AUGUSTA. 

And  each  Hour  shall  be  such  a  glorious  hour, 

Its  moments  so  precious  and  dear, 
That  in  breadth,  and  in  depth,  and  in  bliss-giving 
power, 

It  may  fairly  be  reckoned  a  year  1 


AUGUSTA. 

"  Incedit  regina  /  " 

"HANDSOME   and    haughty!"  —  a  comment   that 
came 

From  lips  which  were  never  accustomed  to  malice ; 
A  girl  with  a  presence  superb  as  her  name, 

And  charmingly  fitted  for  love  —  in  a  palace ! 
And  oft  I  have  wished  (for  in  musing  alone 

One's  fancy  is  apt  to  be  very  erratic) 
That  the  lady  might  wear  —  No !  I  never  will  own 

A  thought  so  decidedly  undemocratic  !  — 
But  if't  were  a  coronet  —  this  I  '11  aver, 

No  duchess  on  earth  could  more  gracefully  wear 

it; 
And  even  a  democrat  —  thinking  of  Tier  — 

Might  surely  be  pardoned  for  wishing  to  share  it ! 


YE  PEDAGOGUE: 


A   BALLAD. 


KIGHTE  learned  is  ye  Pedagogue, 
Fulle  apt  to  reade  and  spelle, 

And  eke  to  teache  ye  parts  of  speeche, 
And  strap  ye  urchins  welle. 


For  as  't  is  meete  to  soake  ye  feete, 
Ye  ailinge  heade  to  mende, 

Ye  younker's  pate  to  stimulate, 
He  beats  ye  other  ende  I 


Highte  lordlie  is  ye  Pedagogue 

As  any  turbaned  Turke  ; 
For  welle  to  rule  ye  District  Schoole, 

It  is  no  idle  worke. 

IV. 

For  oft  Rebellion  lurketh  there 

In  breaste  of  secrete  foes, 
Of  malice  fulle,  in  waite  to  pulle 

Ye  Pedagogue  his  nose  ! 


272  YE   PEDAGOGUE. 


Sometimes  he  heares  with  trembling  feares, 

Of  ye  ungodlie  rogue 
On  mischieffe  bent,  with  felle  intent 

To  licke  ye  Pedagogue  1 

VI. 

And  if  ye  Pedagogue  be  smalle, 

When  to  ye  battell  led, 
In  such  a  plighte,  God  sende  him  rnighte 

To  breake  ye  rogue  his  heade  1 

VII. 

Daye  after  daye,  for  little  pave, 

He  teacheth  what  he  can, 
And  bears  ye  yoke,  to  please  ye  folke, 

And  ye  Committee-man. 

vnf. " 
Ah !  many  crosses  hath  he  borne, 

And  many  trials  founde, 
Ye  while  he  trudged  ye  district  through, 

And  boarded  rounde  and  rounde  !• 


IX. 

Ah !  many  a  steake  hath  he  devoured, 
That,  by  ye  taste  and  sighte, 

Was  in  disdaine,  't  was  very  plaine, 
Of  Daye  his  patent  righte  ! 


YE   PEDAGOGUE.  273 


X. 

Fulle  solemn  is  ye  Pedagogue, 
Amonge  ye  noisy  churls, 

Yet  other  while  he  hath  a  smile 
To  give  ye  handsome  girls ; 


And  one,  —  ye  fayrest  mayde  of  all,  — 

To  cheere  his  wayninge  life, 
Shall  be,  when  Springe  ye  flowers  shall  bringe, 

Ye  Pedagogue  his  wife  I 


12* 


THE  LAWYER'S  VALENTINE. 

I  'M  notified,  —  fair  neighbor  mine,  — 

By  one  of  our  profession, 
That  this  —  the  Term  of  Valentine  — 

Is  Cupid's  Special  Session. 

Permit  me,  therefore,  .to  report 

Myself,  on  this  occasion, 
Quite  ready  to  proceed  to  Court, 

And  File  my  Declaration. 

I  've  an  Attachment  for  you,  too ; 

A  legal  and  a  strong  one ; 
O,  yield  unto  the  Process,  do ; 

Nor  let  it  be  a  long  one  1 

No  scowling  bailiff  lurks  behind  ; 

He  'd  be  a  precious  noddy, 
Who,  failing  to  Arrest  the  mind, 

Should  go  and  Take  the  Body ! 

For  though  a  form  like  yours  might  throw 

A  sculptor  in  distraction  ; 
I  could  n't  serve  a  Capias  —  no  — 

I  'd  scorn  so  base  an  Action  1 


THE  LAWYER'S  VALENTINE.  275 

O,  do  not  tell  me  of  your  youth, 

And  turn  away  demurely ; 
For  though  you  're  very  young,  in  truth, 

You  're  not  an  Infant  surely  1 

The  Case  is  everything  to  me ; 

My  heart  is  love's  own  tissue ; 
Don't  plead  a  Dilatory  Plea ; 

Let 's  have  the  General  Issue ! 

Or,  —  since  you  Ve  really  no  Defence, 

Why  not,  this  present  Session, 
Omitting  all  absurd  pretence, 

Give  judgment  by  Confession  ? 

So  shall  you  be  my  lawful  wife  ; 

And  I  —  your  faithful  lover  — 
Be  Tenant  of  your  heart  for  Life, 

With  no  Remainder  over  1 


ANACREONTIC. 

TO    A   BEAUTIFUL    STRANGER. 

A  GLANCE,  a  smile,  —  I  see  it  yet !  — 
A  moment  ere  the  train  was  starting ; 

How  strange  to  tell !  —  we  scarcely  met, 
And  yet  I  felt  a  pang  at  parting ! 

And  you  —  (alas  that  all  the  while 
'T  is  /  alone  who  am  confessing ! ) 

What  thought  was  lurking  in  your  smile 
Is  quite  beyond  my  simple  guessing. 

I  only  know  those  beaming  rays 
Awoke  in  me  a  strange  emotion, 

Which,  basking  in  IKeir  warmer  blaze, 
Perhaps  might  kindle  to  devotion. 

Ah !  many  a  heart  as  stanch  as  this, 
By  smiling  lips  allured  from  Duty, 

Has  sunk  in  Passion's  dark  abyss,  — 
'  Wrecked  on  the  coral  reefs  of  Beauty ! ' 

And  so,  't  is  well  the  train's  swift  flight 
That  bore  away  my  charming  stranger, 

Took  her  —  God  bless  her  !  —  out  of  sight, 
And  me,  as  quickly,  out  of  danger  1 


THE   CHOICE   OF  KING  MIDAS. 

OR,    TOO    MUCH    OP    A    GOOD    THING. 

I. 

MIDAS,  King  of  Phrygia,  several  thousand  years  ago, 
Was  a  very  worthy  monarch,  as  the  classic  annals 

show  — 
You  may  read  'em  at  your  leisure,  when  you  have 

a  mind  to  doze, 
[n  the  finest  Latin  verses,  or  in  choice  Hellenic 

prose. 


Now  this  notable  old  monarch,  King  of  Phrygia,  as 

aforesaid, 
(Of  whose  royal  state  and  character  there  might 

be  vastly  more  said,) 
Though  he  occupied  a  palace,  kept  a  very  open 

door, 
And  had  still  a  ready  welcome  for  the  stranger  and 

the  poor. 


278  THE    CIIOICE    OF   KING    MIDAS. 

III. 

Now  it  chanced  that  old  Silenus,  who,  it  seems,  had 
lost  his  way, 

Following  Bacchus  through  the  forest,  in  the  pleas- 
ant month  of  May, 

(Which  was  n't  very  singular,  for  at  the  present  day 

The  followers  of  Bacchus  very  often  go  astray  —  ) 

IT. 

Came  at, last  to  good  King  MIDAS,  who  received 

him  in  his  court, 
Gave  him  comfortable  lodgings,  and  —  to  cut  the 

matter  short  — 
With  as   much   consideration  treated   weary  old 

Silenus, 
As  if  the  entertainment  were  for  Mercury  or  Venus. 

v. 

Now  when  Bacchus  heard  the  story,  he  proceeded 

to  the  king, 
And  says  he, '  By  old  Silenus  you  have  done  the 

handsome  thing ; 
He  's  my  much  respected  tutor,  who  has  taught  me 

how  to  read, 
And  I  'm  sure  your  royal  kindness  should  receive 

its  proper  meed ; 

VI. 

So  I  grant  you  full  permission  to  select  your  own 

reward : 
Choose  a  gift  to  suit  your  fancy,  —  something  worthy 

of  a  lord !' 


THE    CHOICE    OF    KING   MIDAS.  279 

*  Evos  Bacche  I '  cried  the  monarch,  <  If  I  do  not 

make  too  bold, 
Let  whatever  I  may  handle  be  transmuted  into 

gold  1 ' 

VII. 

MIDAS,  sitting  down  to  dinner,  sees  the  answer  to 

his  wish, 

For  the  turbot  on  the  platter  turns  into  a  golden  fish  ! 
And  the  bread  between  his  fingers  is  no  longer 

wheaten  bread, 
But  tho  slice  he  tries  to  swallow  is  a  wedge  of  gold 

instead ! 

VIII. 

And  the  roast  he  takes  for  mutton  fills  his  mouth 

with  golden  meat, 
Very  tempting  to  the  vision,  but  extremely  hard  to 

eat; 

And  the  liquor  in  his  goblet,  very  rare,  select,  and  old, 
Down  the  monarch's  thirsty  throttle  runs  a  stream 

of  liquid  gold  I 

IX. 

Quite  disgusted  with  his  dining,  he  betakes  him  to 
his  bed ; 

But,  alas !  the  golden  pillow  does  n't  rest  his  weary 
head ; 

Nor  does  all  the  gold  around  him  soothe  the  mon- 
arch's tender  skin ; 

Golden  sheets,  to  sleepy  mortals,  might  as  well  be 
sheets  of  tin ! 


280  TUE    CHOICE    OF    KING    MIDAS. 


Now  poor  MIDAS,  straight  repenting  9f  his  rash  and 
foolish  choice, 

Went  to  Bacchus,  and  assured  him,  in  a  very  plain- 
tive voice, 

That  his  golden  gift  was  working  hi  a  manner  most 
unpleasant ; 

And  the  god,  in  sheer  compassion,  took  away  the 
fatal  present. 

MORAL. 

By  this  mythologic  story  we  are  very  plainly  told, 

That,  though  gold  may  have  its  uses,  there  are  bet- 
ter things  than  gold ; 

That  a  man  may  sell  his  freedom  to  procure  the 
shining  pelf: 

And  that  Avarice,  though  it  prosper,  still  contrives 
to  cheat  itself ! 


WHERE  THERE'S  A  WILL  THERE'S  A 
WAY. 

Aut  viam  inveniam,  autfaciam. 

IT  was  a  noble  Roman, 

In  Rome's  imperial  day, 
Who  heard  a  coward  croaker, 

Before  the  Castle,  say : 

*  They  're  safe  in  such  a  fortress  ,• 

There  is  no  way  to  shake  it  1 ' 

*  On  —  on ! '  exclaimed  the  hero, 

*  /  'ttjind  a  way,  or  make  it  I ' 

Is  Fame  your  aspiration  ? 

Her  path  is  steep  and  high ; 
In  vain  he  seeks  her  temple, 

Content  to  gaze  and  sigh : 
The  shining  throne  is  waiting, 

But  he  alone  can  take  it 
Who  says,  with  Roman  firmness, 

4  /  'lljind  a  way,  or  make  it  1 ' 

Is  Learning  your  ambition  ? 

There  is  no  royal  road ; 
Alike  the  peer  and  peasant 

Must  climb  to  her  abode : 


282   WHERE   THERE  *S  A  WILL  THERE  's  A  WAY. 

Who  feels  the  thirst  of  knowledge, 

In  Helicon  may  slake  it, 
If  he  has  still  the  Roman  will 

4  To  find  a  way,  or  make  it  I  * 

Are  Riches  worth  the  getting  ? 

They  must  be  bravely  sought ; 
With  wishing  and  with  fretting 

The  boon  cannot  be  bought : 
To  all  the  prize  is  open, 

But  only  he  can  take  it, 
Who  says,  with  Roman  courage, 

*  /  'II  find  a  way,  or  make  it ! ' 

In  Love's  impassioned  warfare 

The  tale  has  ever  been, 
That  victory  crowns  the  valiant,  — 

The  brave  are  they  who  win : 
Though  strong  is  Beauty's  castle, 

A  lover  still  may  take  it, 
Who  says,  with  Roman  daring, 

1 1' II find  a  way,  or  make  it!' 


SAINT  JONATHAN. 

THERE  's  many  an  excellent  Saint,  — 
St.  George,  with  his  dragon  and  lance ; 

St.  Patrick,  so  jolly  and  quaint ; 
St.  Vitus,  the  saint  of  the  dance ; 

St.  Denis,  the  saint  of  the  Gaul ; 
'St.  Andrew,  the  saint  of  the  Scot ; 

But  JONATHAN,  youngest  of  all, 
Is  the  mightiest  saint  of  the  lot ! 

He  wears  a  most  serious  face, 

Well  worthy  a  martyr's  possessing ; 
But  it  is  n't  all  owing  to  grace, 

But  partly  to  thinking  and  guessing ; 
In  sooth,  our  American  Saint, 

Has  rather  a  secular  bias, 
And  I  never  have  heard  a  complaint 

Of  his  being  excessively  pious  ! 

He 's  fond  of  financial  improvement, 
And  is  always  extremely  inclined 

To  be  starting  some  practical  movement 
For  mending  the  morals  and  mind. 


284  SAINT  JONATHAN. 

Do  you  ask' me  what  wonderful  labors 

ST.  JONATHAN  ever  has  done 
To  rank  with  his  Calendar  neighbors  ? 

Just  listen,  a  moment,  to  one  : 

One  day  when  a  flash  in  the  air 

Split  his  meeting-house  fairly  asunder, 
Quoth  JONATHAN,  *  Now  —  I  declare  — 

They  're  dreadfully  careless  with  thunder  1 ' 
So  he  fastened  a  rod  to  the  steeple ; 

And  now,  when  the  lightning  comes  round, 
He  keeps  it  from  building  and  people, 

By  running  it  into  the  ground  ! 

Reflecting,  with  pleasant  emotion, 

On  the  capital  job  he  had  done, 
Quoth  JONATHAN,  *  I  have  a  notion 

Improvements  have  barely  begun ; 
If  nothing  "3  created  in  vain, — 

As  ministers  often  inform  us,  — 
The  lightning  that 's  wasted  't  is  plain, 

Is  really  something  enormous  V ' 

While  ciphering  over  the  thing, 

At  length  he  discovered  a  plan 
To  catch  the  Electrical  King, 

And  make  him  the  servant  of  man ! 
And  now,  in  an  orderly  way, 

He  flies  on  the  fleetest  of  pinions, 
And  carries  the  news  of  the  day 

All  over  his  master's  dominions ! 


SAINT  JONATHAN.  285 

One  morning,  while  taking  a  stroll, 

He  heard  a  lugubrious  cry  — 
Like  the  shriek  of  a  suffering  soul  — 

In  a  Hospital  standing  near  by ; 
Anon,  such  a  terrible  groan 

Saluted  ST.  JONATHAN'S  ear, 
That  his  bosom  —  which  was  n't  of  stone  — 

Was  melted  with  pity  to  hear. 

That  night  he  invented  a  charm 

So  potent  that  folks  who  employ  it, 
In  losing  a  leg  or  an  arm, 

Don't  suffer,  but  rather  enjoy  it  1 
A  miracle,  you  must  allow, 

As  good  as  the  best  of  his  brothers,'  — 
And  blessed  ST.  JONATHAN  now 

Is  patron  of  cripples  and  mothers ! 

There 's  many  an  excellent  Saint,  — 

St.  George,  with  his  dragon  and  lance ; 
St.  Patrick,  so  jolly  and  quaint ; 

St.  Vitus,  the  saint  of  the  dance ; 
St.  Denis,  the  saint  of  the  Gaul; 

St.  Andrew,  the  saint  of  the  Scot ; 
But  JONATHAN,  youngest  of  all, 

Is  the  mightiest  saint  of  the  lot ! 


SONG  OF  SARATOGA. 

*  PRAY,  what  do  they  d6  at  the  Springs  ? ' 

The  question  is  easy  to  ask ; 
But  to  answer  it  fully,  my  dear, 

Were  rather  a  serious  task. 
And  yet,  in  a  bantering  way, 

As  the  magpie  or  mocking-bird  sings, 
I  '11  venture  a  bit  of  a  song 

To  tell  what  they  do  at  the  Springs ! 

Imprimis,  my  darling,  they  drink 

The  waters  so  sparldiag  and  clear; 
Though  the  flavor  is  none  of  the  best, 

And  the  odor  exceedingly  queer ; 
But  the  fluid  is  mingled,  you  know, 

With  wholesome  medicinal  things, 
So  they  drink,  and  they  drink,  and  they  drink,  - 

And  that 's  what  they  do  at  the  Springs  I 

Then  with  appetites  keen  as  a  knife, 
They  hasten  to  breakfast  or  dine ; 

(The  latter  precisely  at  three  ; 
The  former  from  seven  till  nine.) 


SONG   OF   SARATOGA.  287 

Ye  gods !  what  a  rustle  and  rush 

When  the  eloquent  dinner-bell  rings ! 

Then  they  eat,  and  they  eat,  and  they  cat,  — 
And  that  *s  what  they  do  at  the  Springs ! 

Now  they  stroll  in  the  beautiful  walks, 

Or  loll  in  the  shade' of  the  trees; 
Where  many  r»  whisper  is  heard 

That  never  is  told  by  the  breeze ; 
And  hands  are  commingled  with  hands, 

Regardless  of  conjugal  rings ; 
And  they  flirt,  and  they  flirt,  and  they  flirt,  — 

And  that 's  what  they  do  at  the  Springs ! 

The  drawing-rooms  now  are  ablaze, 

And  music  is  shrieking  away ; 
TERPSICHORE  governs  the  hour, 

And  FASHION  was  never  so  gay  I 
An  arm  round  a  tapering  waist  — 

Plow  closely  and  fondly  it  clings : 
So  they  waltz,  and  they  waltz,  and  they  waltz,  — 

And  that  'a  what  they  do  at  the  Springs  1 

In  short  —  as  it  goes  in  the  world  — 

They  eat,  and  they  drink,  and  they  sleep ; 
They  talk,  and  they  walk,  and  they  woo ; 

They  sigh,  and  they  laugh,  and  they  weep ; 
They  read,  and  they  ride,  and  they  dance  ; 

(With  other  unspeakable  things ;) 
They  pray,  and  they  play,  and  they  pay,  — 

And  that 's  what  they  do  at  the  Springs ' 


THE  PORTRAIT; 

A.    SONNET. 

A  PRETTY  picture  hangs  before  my  view  ; 
The  face,  *  in  little,'  of  a  Southern  dame, 
To  me  unknown  (though  not  unknown  to  fame) 

Save  by  the  lines  the  cunning  limner  drew. 

So  grandly  Grecian  is  the  lady's  head, 
I  took  her  for  Minerva  in  disguise ; 
But  when  I  marked  the  winning  lips  and  eves, 

J  thought  of  Aphrodite,  in  her  stead ; 

And  then  I  kissed  her  calm,  unanswering  mouth 
(The  picture  's  mine !)  as  any  lover  might, 
In  the  deep  fervor  of  a  nuptial  night, 

And  envied  him  who,  in  the  *  Sunny  South,' 
Calls  her  his  own  whose  shadow  can  impart 
Such  very  sunshine  to  a  Northern  heart  1 


EPIGRAMS. 

ON    A   FAMOUS    WATER-SUIT. 

MY  wonder  is  really  boundless 

That  among  the  queer  cases  we  try, 

A  land-case  should  often  be  groundless, 
And  a  water-case  always  be  dry  ! 

KISSING    CASUISTRY. 

WHEN  SARAH  JANE,  the  moral  Miss, 
Declares  't  is  very  wrong  to  kiss, 

I  '11  bet  a  shilling  I  see  through  it ; 
The  damsel,  fairly  understood, 
Feels  just  as  any  Christian  should,  — 

She  'd  rather  suffer  wrong  than  do  it ! 

THE    LOST    CHARACTER. 

JULIA  is  much  concerned,  God  wot, 
For  the  good  name  —  she  has  n't  got ; 
So  mortgagors  are  often  known 
To  guard  the  soil  they  deem  their  own ; 
As  if,  forsooth,  they  did  n't  know 
The  land  was  forfeit  long  ago  ! 

13  .       s 


290  EPIGRAMS. 

REVERSING    THE     FIGURES. 

MARIA,  just  at  twenty,  swore 
That  no  man  less  than  six  feet  four 

Should  be  her  chosen  one. 
At  thirty  she  is  glad  to  fix 
A  spouse  exactly  four  feet  six, 
As  better  far  than  none  ! 

TO   A   POETICAL    CORRESPONDENT. 

ROSE  hints  she  is  n't  one  of  those 
~\Vho  have  the  gift  of  writing  prose ; 
But  poetry  is  une  autre  chose, 
And  quite  an  easy  thing  to  Rose  1 
As  if  an  artist  should  decline, 
For  lack  of  skill,  to  paint  a  sign, 
But,  try  him  in  the  landscape  line, 
You  '11  find  his  genius  quite  divine  I 

A    DILEMMA. 

*  WHENEVER  I  marry/  says  masculine  ANN, 

*  I  must  really  insist  upon  wedding  a  man  1 ' 
But  what  if  the  man  (for  men  are  but  human) 
Should  be  equally  nice  about  wedding  a  woman  ? 

ON  A  LONG- WINDED  ORATOR. 

THREE  Parts  compose  a  proper  speech, 
(So  wise  Quintilian's  maxims  teach,) 
But  LOQTJAX  never  can  get  through, 
In  his  orations,  more  than  two. 


EPIGRAMS.  291 

He  does  n't  stick  at  the  *  Beginning- ; ' 
His  '  Middle '  comes  as  sure  as  sinning  ; 
Indeed,  the  whole  one  might  commend, 
Could  he  contrive  to  make  an  *  End  ! ' 

THE    THREE   WIVES:    A   JUBILATION. 

MY  First  was  a  lady  whose  dominant  passion 
Was  thorough  devotion  to  parties  and  fashion ; 
My  Second,  regardless  of  conjugal  duty, 
Was  only  the  worse  for  her  wonderful  beauty ; 
My  Tliird  was  a  vixen  in  temper  and  life, 
Without  one  essential  to  make  a  good  wife. 
Jubilate!  at  last  in  my  freedom  I  revel, 
For  I  'm  clear  of  the  World,  and  the  Flesh,  and 
the  Devil  1 


THE  PRESS. 


RECITED    BEFORE    THE     LITERARY    SOCIETIES    OP 
BROWN   UNIVERSITY,    1865. 


A  WORTHY  parson,  once  upon  a  time, 
Weary  of  list'ning  to  the  sober  rhyme 
That,  of  a  winter's  evening,  chanced  to  fall 
From  a  young  poet  in  a  lecture  hall, 
His  disappointment  openly  confessed, 
And  thus  his  censure  to  a  friend  expressed  :  — 
*  The  poem,  Sir,  is  well  enough  no  doubt, 
But  so  much  preaching  one  could  do  without ; 
A  little  wit  had  pleased  me  more  by  half; 
I  did  n't  come  to  learn,  I  came  to  laugh  ! ' 

So  goes  the  world  ;  his  very  soul  to  save 
They  will  not  let  poor  Harlequin  be  grave ; 
But  vote  him  weaker  than  a  vestry-mouse, 
Unless,  like  Samson,  he  brings  down  the  house  ! 
Alas  1  to-day,  if  such  a  rule  prevail, 
My  sober  muse  were  surely  doomed  to  fail ; 
,  Her  subject  grave  demands  a  serious  song, 
And  trival  treatment  were  ignobly  wrong. 


THE   PRESS.  293 

Yet  let  me  hope  that  e'er  ray  song  be  done, 
When  satire  comes  to  punish  with  a  pun, 
Some  pleasant  fancy  may  your  hearts  beguile, 
And  win  the  favor  of  an  answering  smile. 

I  sing  the  Press ;  O  sweet  Enchantress,  bring 
Fit  inspiration  for  the  theme  I  sing, 
The  Art  of  Arts,  whose  earliest,  freshest  fame, 
With  fierce  debate,  three  rival  cities  claim ; 
The  glorious  art,  that,  scorning  humbler  birth, 
Came  at  a  bound  upon  the  wondering  earth,13 
Full-armed  and  strong  her  instant  might  to  prove, 
A  new  Minerva  from  the  brain  of  Jove  1 

I  marvel  not  that  rival  towns  dispute 
Where  first  the  goddess  set  her  radiant  foot ; 
That  blest  Mayence,  with  honest  pride,  should  bo^st 
The  wondrous  Bible  of  her  wizard  Faust ; 
That  Haarlem,  jealous  of  her  proper  fame, 
Erects  a  statue  to  her  Coster's  name ; 
While  Strasburg's  cits  contemning  all  beside, 
Vaunt  their  own  hero  with  an  equal  pride. 

How  shall  the  poet  venture  to  explain 
Where  plodding  History  labors  still  in  vain 
To  solve  the  mystery  —  the  vexing  doubt 
That  only  deepens  with  the  deepening  shout 
Of  angry  partisans  ?     The  Muse  essays 
The  dangerous  task,  and  thus  awards  the  bays  :  — 
Where  counter  claims  the  highest  merit  hide, 
If  large  the  gift,  'tis  fairest  to  divide. 


294  THE    PRESS. 

Honor  to  all  who  shared  a  noble  part 
To  find,  to  cherish,  or  adorn  the  art ; 
Honor  to  him  who,  with  enraptured  eye, 
First  saw  the  nymph  descending  from  the  sky ; 
Honor  to  him,  whate'er  his  name  or  land, 
The  first  to  kneel,  and  kiss  her  royal  hand ; 
Thrice  honored  he  who,  piercing  the  disguise 
That  barred  her  beauty  from  obtuser  eyes, 
First  gave  her  shelter,  when  the  dusky  maid 
Knocked  at  his  door  in  homely  garb  arrayed, 
And  found  at  length,  beyond  his  hopes  or  prayers, 
He  M  wooed  and  won  an  angel  unawares  1 

I  sing  the  Press  ;  alas,  't  were  much  the  same 
As  though  the  Muse  essayed  the  trump  of  fame ; 
Though  something  harsh  and  grating  in  its  tone, 
She  keeps  a  mightier  trumpet  of  her  own,  — 
The  which,  while  Freedom's  banner  is  unfiirled, 
•Shall    swell  her   paeans   through    the   wondering 
world  1 

Strange  is  the  sound  when  first  the  notes  begin 
Where  human  voices  blend  with  Vulcan's  din ; 
The  click,  the  clank,  the  clangor,  and  the  sound 
Of  rattling  rollers  in  their  rapid  round ; 
The  whizzing  belt,  the  sharp  metallic  jar, 
Like  clashing  spears  in  fierce  chivalric  war ; 
The  whispering  birth  of  myriad  flying  leaves, 
Gathered,  anon,  in  countless  motley  sheaves, 
Then  scattered  far,  as  on  the  winged  wind, 
The  mortal  nurture  of  th'  immortal  mind ! 


THE   PRESS.  295 

I  'm  fond  of  books ;  't  is  pleasant  to  behold 
In  various  apparel,  new  and  old, 
The  quaint  array  of  well-adjusted  tomes 
That  grace  the  mantels  of  our  rural  homes ; 
The  Bible,  Bunyan,  Baxter,  and  a  score 
Of  colder  lights,  from  Hume  to  Hannah  More ; 
Ripe  with  great  thoughts  and  histories,  or  full 
Of  pious  homilies,  devout  and  dull. 
Nor  do  I  scorn  those  half-forgotten  books 
That  lie  neglected  in  obscurer  nooks 
Where  poets  mould,  and  critic-spiders  spin 
Their  flimsy  lines  to  mock  the  lines  within ! 
For  here  the  curious  questioner  may  find 
The  pregnant  hint  that  in  some  ampler  mind 
Grew  to  a  thought,  and  honors  now  the  page 
That  beams  the  brightest  on  the  present  age. 

I  love  vast  libraries ;  revere  the  fame 

Of  all  the  Ptolemies;  and  each  other  name, 

JEmilius,  Augustus,  Crassus  Caesar,  all 

The  old  collectors,  whether  great  or  small, 

Who  helped  the  cause  of  learning  to  advance,  — • 

Trajan  and  Bodley,  Charles  the  Wise  of  France, 

Kings,  nobles,  knights,  who,  anxious  of  renown 

Beyond  the  fame  of  garter,  spur,  or  crown, 

And  wisely  provident  against  decay, 

(Since  parchment  lives  while  marble  melts  away,) 

Reared  to  their  honor  literary  domes, 

And  grew  immortal  in  immortal  tomes  ! 

Grand  are  the  pyramids,  although  the  stones 
Are  but  the  graves  of  rotten  human  bones 


296  THE    PRESS. 

That  bear,  alas !  nor  name,  nor  crest,  nor  date 
To  show  the  world  their  former  regal  state. 
Compared  with  these,  how  noble  and  sublime 
The  garnered  excellence  of  every  clime 
Reared  in  vast  Pantheons,  and  finely  wrought, 
From  sill  to  cap-stone,  of  immortal  thought ! 

Here,  e'en  the  sturdy  democrat  may  find, 
Nor  scorn  their  rank,  the  nobles  of  the  mind ; 
While  kings  may  learn,  nor  blush  at  being  shown 
How  Learning's  patents  abrogate  their  own. 
A  goodly  company  and  fair  to  see ; 
Royal  plebeians ;  earls  of  low  degree ; 
Beggars  whose  wealth  enriches  every  clime ; 
Princes  who  scarce  can  boast  a  mental  dime ; 
Crowd  here  together  like  the  quaint  array 
Of  jostling  neighbors  on  a  market  day. 
Homer  and  Milton  —  can  we  call  them  blind  ?  — 
Of  godlike  sight,  the  vision  of  the  mind ; 
Shakespeare,  who  calmly  looked  creation  through, 
4  Exhausted  worlds,  and  then  imagined  new ; ' 
Plato  the  sage,  so  thoughtful  and  serene, 
He  seems  a  prophet  by  his  heavenly  mien ; 
Shrewd  Socrates,  whose  philosophic  power 
Xantippe  proved  in  many  a  trying  hour ; 
And  Aristophanes,  whose  humor  run 
In  vain  endeavor  to  be-'  cloud '  the  sun ;  M 
Majestic  zEschylus,  whose  glowing  page 
Holds  half  the  grandeur  of  the  Athenian  stage ; 
Pindar,  whose  odes,  replete  with  heavenly  fire, 
Proclaim  the  master  of  the  Grecian  lyre ; 


THE    PRKSS.  297 

Anacreon,  famed  for  many  a  luscious  line 
Devote  to  Venus  and  the  god  of  wine. 

I  love  vast  libraries ;  yet  there  is  a  doubt 
If  one  be  better  with  them  or  without,  — 
Unless  he  use  them  wisely,  and,  indeed, 
Knows  the  high  art  of  what  and  how  to  read. 
At  Learning's  fountain  it  is  sweet  to  drink, 
But 't  is  a  nobler  privilege  to  think ; 
And  oft,  from  books  apart,  the  thirsting  rnind 
May  make  the  nectar  which  it  cannot  find. 
'T  is  well  to  borrow  from  the  good  and  great ; 
'T  is  wise  to  learn ;  't  is  godlike  to  create  1 

There  is  a  story  which  my  purpose  suits ; 
'Tis  told  by  Richter  of  the  author  Wuz  — 
A  poor  lone  scholar  who,  in  urgent  need 
(Or  so  he  thought)  of  learned  books  to  read, 
Wept  o'er  his  poverty,  lamenting  sore, 
(The  while  a  catalogue  he  pondered  o'er,) 
Of  all  the  charming  works  that  met  his  eye, 
Not  one,  alas !  his  meagre  purse  could  buy. 
While  musing  thus,  his  racked  invention  brought 
To  weeping  Wuz  for  once  a  lucky  thought : 
4  Eureka ! '  cried  the  scholar,  with  a  roar,  — 
As  Archimedes  shouted  once  before,  — 
4 1  have  it !  —  True,  my  purse  is  rather  scant, 
But  then  this  catalogue  shows  what  I  want, 
And  so  who  cares  for  poverty  or  pelf?  — 
I  '11  take  my  pen  and  write  the  books  myself ! ' 
Where  be  our  authors  now  ?     The  noble  band 
13* 


298  THE   PRESS. 

Dwindles  apace  from  off  the  famished  land. 
Scarce  a  round  dozen,  at  the  best,  remain 
Of  all  who  once,  among  the  author-train, 
Wrote  books  like  scholars ;  —  nor  esteemed  it  hard, 
Genius  like  Virtue  was  its  own  reward. 

O  gentle  Irving !  —  thou  whom  every  grace 

Of  wit  and  learning  gave  the  highest  place 

In  the  proud  synod  of  the  old  regime, 

In  all  thy  dreaming,  didst  thou  ever  dream 

To  see  thy  craft  a  mere  mechanic  art, 

The  servile  minion  of  the  bookish  mart  ?  — 

When  authorship  should  be  the  merest  trade, 

And  men  make  books  as  hats  and  boots  are  made  ? 

Didst  ever  dream  to  see  the  wondrous  day 

When  the  vexed  press  should  spawn  the  vast  array 

Of  trashy  tomes  that  on  the  public  burst, 

So  fast,  they  print  the  »  Tenth  Edition '  first  ? 

Thou  hast  not  read  them.     God  forbid !     It  racks 

One's  brains  enough  to  see  tkeir  brazen  backs. 

Yet  thou  wilt  smile,  I  know,  when  thou  art  told 

That  with  each  book  the  buyer  too  is  *  sold ' ; 

That  soon  the  puffing  art  shall  all  be  vain, 

And  sense  and  reason  rule  the  town  again. 

Sweet  to  the  traveller  is  the  urchin's  chimes, 
Proclaiming,  *  'Ere 's  your  'Erald,  Tribune,  Times ! 
Those  lively  records  of  the  passing  day, 
That  catch  the  echo,  ere  it  dies  away, 
Of  battle,  bravery,  sudden  death,  and  all 
That  human  minds  can  startle  or  appall ; 


THE    PRESS.  299 

Marriage  and  murder ;  things  of  different  name, 

Alas  !  that  oft  the  two  should  be  the  same ! 

Letters  describing  merry  rural  scenes  ; 

Ship-news,  and,  often,  news  for  the  marines ; 

Fortune's  bright  favors,  and  Misfortune's  shocks ; 

The  fall  of  Hungary  and  the  fall  of  stocks ; 

The  important  page  that  tells  the  thrilling  tale 

How  Empires  rise,  and  '  Red  Republics  '  fail ; 

How  England's  lion,  loitering  in  his  lair, 

Essays  in  vain  to  fright  the  Russian  bear ; 

How  France,  bemoaning  the  expensive  war, 

Would  give  her  *  Louis,'  to  save  her  louis-d'or  ; 

While  the  poor  Turk,  whom  hapless  luck  attends, 

Cries,  '  Gracious  Allah !  save  me  from  my  friends  1 ' 

I  have  a  neighbor,  of  eccentric  views, 

Who  has  a  mortal  horror  of  the  news ; 

As  lessons  are  to  boys,  when  long  and  hard  ; 

Spiders,  to  ladies ;  censure,  to  a  bard ; 

To  losers,  bets  ;  to  holders,  railway  stock ; 

Lectures  to  husbands,  after  ten  o'clock ; 

Bacon  to  Hebrews,  or  to  Quakers,  war  ; 

Squalls  to  a  sailor,  or  a  bachelor ; 

To  Satan  prayer-books,  or  to  Islam,  wine, 

So  are  *  the  papers '  to  this  friend  of  mine. 

You  Ve  but  to  ask  him,  in  the  common  way, 

The  usual  question,  and  to  your  dismay, 

He  '11  pour,  remorseless,  on  your  tingling  ear, 

Such  streams  of  satire  as  you  '11  quake  to  hear. 

«  The   News  ?  —  Thank   Heaven  !  —  I  'm  not  the 

man  to  know, 
I  do  not  take  the  papers ;  you  can  go, 


300  THE    PTCESS. 

If  you  possess  the  patience  and  the  pelf, 

And  read  the  lying  journals  for  yourself; 

I  hate,  despise,  detest,  abhor  them  all, 

Hebdomadal,  diurnal,  great,  and  small. 

The  News,  indeed !  —  pray  do  you  call  it  news 

"When  shallow  noddles  publish  shallow  views  ? 

Pray,  is  it  news  that  turnips  should  be  bred 

As  large  and  hollow  as  the  owner's  head  ? 

News,  that  a  clerk  should  rob  his  master's  hoard, 

Whose  meagre  salary  scarcely  pays  his  board  ? 

News,  that  two  knaves,  their  spurious  friendship  o'er, 

Should  tell  the  truths  which  they  concealed  before  ? 

News,  that  a  maniac,  weary  of  his  life, 

Should  end  his  sorrows  with  a  rope  or  knife  ? 

News,  that  a  wife  should  violate  the  vows 

That  bind  her,  loveless,  to  a  tyrant  spouse  ? 

News,  that  a  daughter  cheats  paternal  rule, 

And  weds  a  scoundrel  to  escape  a  fool  ?  — 

The  news,  indeed !  —  Such  matters  are  as  old 

As  sin  and  folly,  rust  and  must"  and  mould ; 

Nor  fit  to  publish  even  when,  in  sooth, 

By  merest  chance  the  papers  tell  the  truth ! ' 

So  raves  my  friend,  —  a  worthy  man  enough, 
But  in  his  utterance  rather  rude  and  rough ; 
Fond  of  extremes,  and  so  exceeding  strong, 
E'en  in  the  right  he  's  often  in  the  wrong. 
One  of  those  people  whom  you  may  have  seen, 
(You  know  them  always  by  their  nervous  mien,) 
Who  when  they  go  a-fishing  in  the  well 
Where  Truth,  the  angel,  is  supposed  to  dwell, 


THE   PllESS.  301 

So  very  roughly  knock  the  nymph  about, 
She  kicks  the  bucket  ere  she  's  fairly  out !  — 
Yet,  if  they  would,  the  noble  lords  of  print, 
E'en  from  my  friend,  might  take  a  wholesome  hint. 

O  for  a  pen  with  Hogarth's  genius  rife 
To  paint  the  scenes  of  Editorial  life. 
The  tale,  I  know,  is  rather  trite  and  old, 
And  yet,  perchance,  it  may  be  freshly  told, 
As  some  plain  dish,  a  simple  roast  or  stew, 
Takes  a  new  flavor  in  a  French  ragout. 

SCENE  —  a  third  story  in  a  dismal  court, 
Where  weary  printers  just  at  eight  resort ; 
A  dingy  door  that  with  a  rattle  shuts ; 
Heaps  of '  Exchanges,*  much  adorned  with  *  cuts ; ' 
Pens,  paste,  and  paper  on  the  table  strewed ; 
Books,  to  be  read  when  they  have  been  reviewed ; 
Pamphlets  and  tracts  so  very  dull  indeed 
That  only  they  who  wrote  them  e'er  will  read ; 
Nine  letters,  touching  themes  of  every  sort, 
And  one  with  money — just  a  shilling  short  — 
Lie  scattered  round  upon  a  common  level. 
PERSONS  —  the  Editor ;  enter,  now,  the  Devil :  — • 

*  Please,  Sir,  since  this  'ere  article  was  wrote, 
There  's  later  news  perhaps  you  'd  like  to  quote : 

*  The  allies  storming  with  prodigious  force, 
S'&as-to-pol  is  down ! '     *  Set  it  up,  of  course.' 

*  And,  Sir,  that  murder 's  done  —  there  's  only  left 
One  larceny.'    *  Pray  don't  omit  the  theft.' 


302  THE    PRESS. 

*  And,  Sir,  about  the  mob  —  the  matter 's  fat '  — 

*  The  mob  ?  —  that 's  wrong  —  pray  just  distribute 

that.' 

*  And  here 's  an  article  has  come  to  hand, 

A  reg'lar,  'rig'nal  package '  — '  Let  that  stand ! ' 
Exit  the  imp  of  Faust,  and  enter  now 
A  fierce  subscriber  with  a  scowling  brow ;  — 
'Sir,   curse  your  paper!  —  send  the  thing  to'  — 

Well, 

The  place  he  names  were  impolite  to  tell ; 
Enough  to  know  the  hero  of  the  Press 
Cries,  '  Thomas,  change  the  gentleman's  address ! 
We  '11  send  the  paper,  if  the  post  will  let  it, 
Where  the  subscriber  will  be  sure  to  get  it ! ' 

Who  would  not  be  an  Editor  ?  —  To  write 
The  magic  *  we  '  of  such  enormous  might ; 
To  be  so  great  beyond  the  common  span 
It  takes  the  plural  to  express  the  man ; 
And  yet,  alas,  it  happens  oftentimes 
A  unit  serves  to  number  all  his  dimes ! 
But  don't  despise  him ;  there  may  chance  to  be 
An  earthquake  lurking  in  his  simple  '  we ! ' 

In  the  close  precincts  of  a  dusty  room 
That  owes  few  losses  to  the  lazy  broom, 
There  sits  the  man ;  you  do  not  know  his  name, 
Brown,  Jones,  or  Johnson  —  it  is  all  the  same  — 
Scribbling  away  at  what  perchance  may  seem 
An  idler's  musing,  or  a  dreamer's  dream ; 
His  pen  runs  rambling,  like  a  straying  steed ; 
The  '  we '  he  writes  seems  very  '  wee '  indeed ; 


THE   PRESS.  303 

But  mark  the  change ;  behold  the  wondrous  power 
Wrought  by  the  Press  in  one  eventful  hour ; 
To-night,  't  is  harmless  as  a  maiden's  rhymes ; 
To-morrow,  thunder  in  the  London  Times  f 
The  ministry  dissolves  that  held  for  years ; 
Her  Grace,  the  Duchess,  is  dissolved  in  tears ; 
The    Kothschilds    quail;    the    church,    the   army, 

quakes ; 

The  very  kingdom  to  its  centre  shakes ; 
The  Corn  Laws  fall ;  the  price  of  bread  comes 

down  — 
Thanks  to  the  '  we '  of  Johnson,  Jones,  or  Brown  I 

Firm  in  the  right,  the  daily  Press  should  be 
The  tyrant's  foe,  the  champion  of  the  free ; 
Faithful  and  constant  to  its  sacred  trust ; 
Calm  in  its  utterance ;  in  its  judgments,  just ; 
Wise  in  its  teaching ;  uncorrupt,  and  strong 
To  speed  the  right,  and  to  denounce  the  wrong. 
Long  may  it  be  ere  candor  must  confess 
On  Freedom's  shores  a  weak  and  venal  Press. 


NOTES. 


NOTE  1.     Page  7. 
*  To  show,  for  once,  that  Dutchmen  are  not  duU." 

Pere  Bouhours  seriously  asked  '  if  a  German  couW  be  a 
"  bel  esprit.''1  This  concise  question  was  answered  by  Kra- 
mer, in  a  ponderous  work  entitled  '  Vindidce  nominis  Ger~ 

tt/OWOOU1 

NOTE  2.    Page  13. 

lln  closest  girdle,  0  reluctant  Muse, 
In  scantiest  skirts,  and  lightest  stepping-shoet? 

Imitated  from  the  opening  couplet  of  Holmes's  '  Terpsi- 
chore,' — 

'/n  narrowest  girdle,  0  reluciani  Muse, 
In  closest  frock,  and  Cinderella  shoes."1 

NOTE  3.    Page  13. 
'She  stoops  to  conquer  in  a  Grecian  curve.'' 

Terence,  who  wrote  comedies  a  little  more  than  two 
thousand  years  ago,  thus  alludes  to  this  and  a  kindred 
custom  then  prevalent  among  the  Roman  girls:  — 

*  Virgines,  quas  matres  student 

Demissis  humeris  esse,  vincto  corpore,  ut  graciles  fiant.' 
T 


306  NOTES. 

The  sense  of  the  passage  may  be  given  in  English,  with 
sufficient  accuracy,  thus :  — 

Maidens,  whom  fond,  maternal  care  has  graced 
With  stooping  shoulders,  and  a  cinctured  waist. 

NOTE  4.    Page  17. 
*  Their  tumid  trope*  for  simple  Buncombe  made.'1 

Many  readers,  who  have  heard  about '  making  speeches 
for  Buncombe,'  may  not  be  aware  that  the  phrase  origi- 
nated as  follows :  —  A  member  of  Congress  from  the  county 
of  Buncombe,  North  Carolina,  while  pronouncing  a  mag- 
niloquent set-speech,  was  interrupted  by  a  remark  from  the 
chau>  that  '  the  seats  were  quite  vacant.'  '  Never  mind, 
never  mind,'  replied  the  orator,  *  I  'm  talking  for  Buii- 
combe ! ' 

NOTE  6.    Page  17. 

iTHl  rising  high  in  rancorous  debate, 
And  higher  still  injierce,  envenomed  hate,' 
Etc. 

*  Sed  jurgia  prima  sonare 

Incipiunt  animis  ardentibus ;  haec  tuba  rixse ; 

Dein  clarnore  pari  concurritur,  et  vice  teli 

Saevit  nuda  manus." — Juv.  Sat.  xv. 

NOTE  6.    Page  21. 
lNot  uninvited  to  her  task  she  came* 

This  Poem  was  written  at  the  instance  of  the  Associated 
Alumni  of  Middlebury  College,  and  spoken  before  that 
Society,  July  22,  1846. 

NOTE  7.    Page  21. 

''No  singer's  trick,  —  conveniently  to  bring 
A  sudden  cough  when  importuned  to  sing.' 


NOTES.  307 

The  capriciousness  of  musical  folk,  here  alluded  to,  is  by 
no  means  peculiar  to  our  times.  A  little  before  the  Chris- 
tian era,  Horace  had  occasion  to  scold  the  Komau  singers 
for  the  same  fault:  — 

'  Omnibus  hoc  vitium  est  cantoribus,  inter  amicos, 
UK  nunquam  inducant  animum  cantare  rogati  ; 
Injussi  nunquam  desistant.'  —  SAT.  m. 

NOTE  8.    Page  111. 

*  Wliile  the  dear  country,  as  the  reader  learns. 
Is  saved  or  ruined  in  quadrennial  turns.' 
It  is  certainly  very  notable  that  the  difference  between 
the  country's  *  ruin '  and  '  salvation,'  by  the  vicissitudes  of 
politics,  is  so  little  obvious  to  the  mere  observer  of  national 
affairs,  that  he  would  scarcely  know  when  to  weep  or  re- 
joice, but  for  the  timely  information  afforded  by  his  party 
newspaper! 

NOTE  9.    Page  111. 

'  While  their  own  thoughts,  the  wretches  fear  to  speak, 
Not  Sundays  only,  but  throughout  the  week.' 
An  allusion  to  the  Scriptural  injunction,  '  not  to  speak 
one's  own  words '  on  the  Sabbath  day. 

NOTE  10.    Page  116. 

lAnd.hush  the  wail  of  Peter  Plymley's  ghost.' 
Rev.  Sydney  Smith,  the  English  author  and  wit,  lately 
deceased,  who,  having  speculated  in  Pennsylvania  Bonds 
to  the  damage  of  his  estate,  berated  '  the  rascally  repudi- 
ators '  with  much  spirit,  and  lamented  his  losses  in  many 
excellent  jests. 

NOTE  11.    Page  116. 

'  Unfriendly  hills  no  longer  interpose 

As  stubborn  walls  to  geographic  foes, 

Noi-  envious  streams  run  only  to  divide 

The  hearts  of  brethren  ranged  on  cither  side' 


308  NOTES. 

'  Lands  intersected  by  a  narrow  frith 
Abhor  each  other.    Mountains  interposed 
Make  enemies  of  nations,  who  had  else 
Like  kindred  drops  been  mingled  into  one  * 

NOTE  12.    Page  118. 
1  No  pitying  nymphs  had  gathered  round  to  tceep.' 

It  is  a  part  of  the  fable  of  Phaethon,  the  son  of  Helios,  of 
whom  mention  is  made  a  few  lines  above,  that,  when  he 
had  fallen  from  the  sky  and  was  drowned  in  the  river  Eri- 
danus,  his  sisters,  the  Heliades,  assembling  on  the  shore, 
lamented  his  fate  in  tears,  which  were  changed  to  amber  as 
they  fell. 

NOTE  13.    Page  293. 
1  Came  at  a  bound  upon  (he  wondering  earth.1 

It  is  a  notable  fact,  —  as  one  may  see  by  a  glance  at  the 
early  specimens  of  printing,  —  that  typography  was  at  the 
very  first  so  excellent  as  to  leave  little  room  for  improve- 
ment. With  equal  truth  and  felicity  it  has  been  called, 

Art  simul  inventa  atque  perfecta.' 

NOTE  14.    Page  296. 

'Aristophanes,  whose  humor  run 
In  vain  endeavor  to  be-"doud"  the  sun.1 

An  allusion  to  the  comedy  of  "  The  Clouds,"  written  in 
ridicule  of  Socrates. 


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